My Sister Laura, my brother Todd and I lost our dad, Mike Strauss, a year ago today. He passed on August 3, 2020. Every time I hear a blues song or pick up my guitar, I remember him and miss him. RIP Dad!! We'll be jamming in Heaven one day......!

I had been playing guitar since I was 14 or 15, but only occasionally and certainly not in front of crowds since I was a teenager.  When Dad came back into my life, I was 50 and Dad was 71. He was a Jazz/Blues rhythm guitar player and I had always erred towards classic rock music. Dad suggested we start practicing some cover songs, but we had to pick some music that fit both his and my generations. We met in the middle with some blues rock songs from The Allman Brothers, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Creedence and some others. We practiced up every day until we figure we were good enough to play in front of others.

Part of our journey was going to music stores and horse trading guitars and amps. Dad used to call it GAS (gear acquisition syndrome). A few years ago, we finally stopped trading and settled on instruments that we liked. 

We started searching the internet for open mic venues in the Atlanta metro area. The first one we went to was at a bar called Jeffries in Johns Creek, GA. It was hosted by a gentleman named Ken Hess, who now coincidentally, is my neighbor in North Cumming, GA. We played there for at least a couple of months and then found an open Jam in Marietta at a little hole in the wall venue called Darwin's Burgers and Blues. We played there for quite some time and really enjoyed our time there, because there we always we were always accompanied by a drummer and a bass player. Dad played rhythm guitar and I played lead and sang.

Dad had a very keen sense of timing and rhythm. He always had a lot of people that would come up to him after we played and tell him how much they enjoyed our show. I would get a few compliments here and there, but Dad seemed to draw people to him. It was really an amazing thing to watch. 

As we played at these other Venues, we played at an open mic hosted by Paul Douglas Sanner at the Arena Tavern next to the Gwinnett Arena. There were other venues Paul hosted throughout the metro area and we played many of them.  Paul was just one of the nicest hosts we ever met. He even took Videos of our gigs and put them up on youtube. He also gave us CD's so we could hear ourselves play and they really helped us improve. Paul was a big part of both of our lives. He has always reached out to me and asked how Dad was. He took it hard when I told him Dad had passed and right away he started posting video's and pictures on this memorial website. Thanks Paul, for everything!

Darwin's played out over time and we moved on the a place called Montana's in Alpharetta. There was a gentleman named Mike Watson who hosted the open mic jam there. He was a professional musician and we had a wonderful time playing at his jams. Mike Watson passed away earlier this year of Cancer (he was about my age and died young). That was a very sad day for both of us. 

After that we played for the last few years at a bar called Good 'ol Days in downtown Cumming. We had the longest run of all there. Over the years that we played all of these venues, we got to know quite a few people in the Atlanta music scene. We have a great time and I know Dad especially enjoyed playing the shows. After Dad contracted Lung Cancer and was put on Oxygen, we played one last show at Good ol days this past January. After that, Dad had become too weak to continue playing out. 

I'm just happy that Dad got to do the thing he loved to do the most in his final years. Playing music. The background music on the site was Dad playing.

How to find a way to “memorialize” a man like my father? Write a biography? Write something sweet and sappy? Tell of a lifetime of experiences with “my dad?” None of this is possible from my perspective.I think I will just tell it like it is – as the song says.

Madly in love were the two people who brought me and my two brothers into this world. High on life and all its possibilities, loving the lifestyle of the “up and coming” couples of the mid 50’s and 60’s in America, certain that the good life would always be there and would only get better, living with panache, rubbing elbows with big fish, enjoying all the amenities.HALT! That is where it stopped - 1968, no more delusions; three children and an ex-wife.Where he went from there is a story I cannot tell.

I can tell what I have been told, but I cannot attest to any of it. I can scour the most comprehensive resource, the internet, not finding anything about where he was, what he was doing, who he was in contact with, what kind of life he was living – in fact, not even sure if he was alive.Oh, yes, I should include there was occasional contact, so I knew he was alive during those communications.Specifically, 1971, short revival of the Mike and Linda story; 1975 visit to the mall at Christmas; 1987 weekend in Miami; 1989 a check sent FedEx for Christmas, not a note or a card, just a check. After that, Mikey brought him back to us in 2010.

We spent the last 10 years getting to know the man I could never understand, and truthfully, still don’t. I know he only showed the gentlest and kindest side of himself during this time. He would sometimes show burning passion through banging his hand on the table for emphasis, sometimes some really dry humor that was derogatory while hilariously funny, and could size up a situation in the most negative way. Oddly, those incidents were always benign and harmless, usually followed by unparalleled laughter – sometimes I peed my pants!

We bonded as father and daughter. I found a way to love him again .He said he had always loved me. One can only guess what was going on in his inherently complex mind. We would travel all over the world together in our conversations, revel in the customs of different cultures, drink up the wonders of the brightest minds and the most devout believers, talk about the wonderful food and scenery of different places, explore religions, origins, even genetics.We always found plenty to talk about.There was still something missing and we both knew it – a lifetime of memories we didn’t make together. The spirit was there, but the memories weren’t.

During his absence, my grandfather, his father, filled in the void. Dad did not get along with Grandpa; his assertion was “I wouldn’t come when he called.” I don’t doubt that – Dad was a rebel, plain and simple. His disposition was one of complete independence and fierce self-confidence. At least that is what he would have you believe.The truth is, he longed for approval – from everyone he ever encountered. Didn’t matter how he got that approval – would buy it if necessary, but had to have it. If he didn't get it, he would go elsewhere to find a place where he could. He found it with the three of us. I suppose that is the reason he stayed with us until the end.

These last year’s of getting acquainted with Dad, learning my genealogy of sorts, learning the depth of my roots in his, all of this brought a peace I never thought I would know. In the end, I think my brothers and I are all the better for having this time with him. I will miss him; I am used to that.

Hear O’ Israel, for you are our Lord, our God, King of our Universe, and we shall love You with all our heart, our mind, our body, and our strength. It would have been enough and it is enough that You gave us time with our father. Thank You, Lord, for letting me hold his finger one last time. Please accept him into Your kingdom that we may rest easy he is in Your hands for the second time. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.