Rest Easy Dad
It's almost surreal to realize that 25 years have passed since the loss of my father, David Lee Angstead Sr. (1951 – 1997). He departed surrounded by cherished friends and family, including my aunt, Deanna, who also bid us farewell in early 2003 (love you too, Deanna.)
At the young age of 46, he left this world, leaving behind unfulfilled dreams. Today, he would have been 63 and possibly a grandpa. It's a concept that's hard to fathom. As this time of year approaches, especially on his birthday, a wave of sentimentality usually hits me. However, now that I'm a father myself, the impact feels particularly profound.
Even though we only had 12 years together, the memories from that time have been influential in shaping my life and inspiring my artistic journey. I recall a rainy August morning in '93 when he picked me up from school to get Earthbound on its release day. He convinced the school it was a "family emergency," and we spent the day at the mall, huddled at the bus stop in the pouring rain, flipping through the 'scratch and sniff' player's guide, discussing the excitement of playing this incredible game together.
Our shared love of video games included Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Legend of Zelda, and Chrono Trigger – basically, the entire Nintendo franchise. Whether playing together or watching him, we spent countless hours drawing grid maps and creating detailed 'player's guides' before they became commonplace.
He introduced me to Magic the Gathering, comic books (both Comix and Marvel/DC), and of course, Disney cartoons. We stayed up late to watch "Snick," where I was introduced to Ren & Stimpy and the world of John K., immersing myself in the realm of eccentric comedy and cartoons.
Our shared love extended to movies like Monty Python, Nightmare Before Christmas, and Toy Story. He also exposed me to his unique & eclectic taste in music – Frank Zappa, Reggae music and Dr. Demento were regulars in our home. Barnes & Barnes' "Roly Poly Fishheads" became a song I knew the lyrics to before any nursery rhyme. These shared moments continue to influence and shape my creative path, a lasting legacy from a father gone too soon.
The logo for Sacramento's "Jointed Cue"
He was a true artist, specializing in illustration and window painting, and occasionally donning the hat of a designer. His final masterpiece was a birthday card he crafted for me on my 12th birthday.
In the last decade of his life, he transitioned into landscaping, creating and maintaining exquisite gardens and parks for the city of Sacramento.
A few years after his passing, I discovered a fascinating chapter in his life. While living in the Bay Area and attending school at the Art Institute, he applied and got accepted into the Disney Imagineers project in his mid-20s. Ultimately, he chose not to pursue it, a decision likely influenced by his political and cultural stance as a hippie in the mid-'60s and early '70s in San Francisco.
I miss him every day, and I attribute my creative pursuits today to the inspiration he instilled in me. In our last conversation, he left me with these words: "I was only here to have you as my son. You'll make the name proud; I'll be watching."
The overt sentimentalism in my work and brand finds its roots in this deep connection I had with my dad. I wouldn't be the person I am today without knowing him as my father, even though our time together was brief.
Today marks the anniversary of the saddest day of my life, but I strive to turn it into a day of inspiration and love—a reminder not to take my time here and with my loved ones for granted.
Love you, Dad. I miss you, and wherever you are, I hope you're enjoying the show!
