Check out this amazing biography of Scott with Mike Sager.
Its basically what the song he performed on Carson "Man I didn't know" is about. I feel so bad for him! After reading it you will see that he had a really messed up childhood. His parents divorced when he was 3 and he moved from San Jose to Cleveland with his mom and new stepdad. He was devastated!
He would visit his father who he loved so much every summer. It's so sad to hear him explain the Anticiipation and then the Separation once he had to get on a plane back to Cleveland. It's kinda like his bi-polar disorder and substance abuse.
?MIKE SAGER
MY PARENTS WERE FROM THE BAY AREA. My dad was a surfer and a rock 'n' roll guy?you know, hot rods and slicked-back hair; he drove a '58 Impala. Later he fell in love with the Stones and the Beatles and became more of a longhair. I remember going out to visit him every summer. The first thing I'd do was raid his weed stash. My mom was the cheerleader in the poodle skirt. She was a lifeguard; they surfed Santa Cruz together. They were intensely in love and got married at a young age. I don't want to open up their whole can of worms, but certain things happened. I was born in '67; the whole sixties thing was really going strong. I think my dad was a bit of a flake back then. He wanted to have a good time, you know, tune in and turn on, whatever they used to say back then. My mom was just not down with it. They ended up getting a divorce. It crushed me. I was three years old.
My stepfather was the complete opposite of my dad. He was a corporate guy at TRW. He'd played football at Notre Dame and then got his master's degree at USC in aeronautical engineering. His favorite group was the Kingston Trio. If I were to sum up my stepfather in one word, the word would be responsible . That word was always coming out of his mouth: "You have to be responsible, Scott." "Scott, you have to be responsible." Responsible, responsible, responsible. And he was responsible. I think that's what attracted my mom to him in the first place.
We lived in Southern California until my stepfather got a promotion, then we moved to Ohio. I was four and a half. It really broke my heart because I was pulled away from my dad. After that, I used to fly out and spend the summers with him. I remember how I used to feel as the plane was getting closer and closer to the gate. You know, I'd look through that window, trying to see my dad, because at that time anyone could come up to the gate and pick you up. Sometimes I could see him. He'd be right up against the glass. And I'd just come running through the passageway, you know, and he'd be waiting there with this big smile on his face...and he would get down on his knees and just grab hold of me.
But then I would have to leave. The drive to the airport was really...it was really...it wasn't good. I remember I'd have to say goodbye and get on the plane. I'd get the window seat and just look out that window, and he would just stand there at the gate, and we'd just look at each other. When I would get back to Cleveland, I would be a wreck for a couple of weeks. For nine years of my life, that's how it went: anticipation and separation. Those were my summers.
From an early age, I had a preoccupation with catching a buzz. I remember the summer right after my eighth-grade year. We lived in northeastern Ohio, in this very preppy town, Chagrin Falls. There was this family that lived across the woods. I was friends with the kids; they were a little bit older than me, high school age. Their parents worked late, and we would play quarters, the drinking game. When no one was home at their house, I would sneak in and fill up a big tumbler full of liquor. I'd put in a little bit of vodka, a little bit of gin, a little bit of Black Velvet?a little bit of this and a little bit of that. And then I'd just go off into the woods and sit up against an old oak tree and chug it down.
Then I'd load up my BB gun and go shooting birds, which was always quite fun until you actually hit one and were consumed with guilt.
We moved back to California, to Huntington Beach, in Orange County. It was right after the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High had come out. And I remember thinking to myself, This new school is identical to the movie! There were parties every weekend. I guess the parents' overall philosophy was, you might as well do it here, where we can supervise you. You could ride your bike from kegger to kegger.
My drinking kind of escalated. At the beginning of my freshman year, we'd get ****ed up on Friday and Saturday, and then we'd make it all the way till the next Friday before doing it again. But as time went on, it became a fixation. An obsession. All you could think about the whole week was getting to Friday again so you could party. That was all I ever thought about. That, you know, and sex.
you can find the rest here:
http://vr.belowempty.com/articles/2005/050401_Esquire.php
Author