My father died 23 years ago, his voice is now an NFT

Twelve days before my 13th birthday my father lost his battle with cancer, that was twenty-three years ago. This was hands down the most difficult event that I’ve ever experienced in my life. Losing my father at such a young age is something I didn’t handle well, and it had negative impacts on my life starting with me largely dismissing school and not applying myself to anything for roughly the next decade.

My father welcomes me into the world

My father welcomes me into the world


Sadly, my father died before there was the ease of recording moments in high definition video via these nifty little things we call smartphones. A couple of dozen photos of my father exist and, until very recently, it was all I thought I had to remember him by. While I did find the audio of his funeral recently and digitize it to publish to YouTube, I didn’t have any audio or video of him.

Then I found a microcassette tape with my name written in my father’s handwriting on the label. I went to eBay and bought the cheapest microcassette record I could find. My father worked for the Indiana State Police and, at the time of his passing, was a detective so he frequently used microcassette tapes for notes and interviews, would this be a personal message to me that I’d somehow not discovered until now? Sadly, no. It was one of the tapes from our answering machine in 1998.

Did my father leave me a message?

Did my father leave me a message?

Jackpot.

My father’s voice. MY FATHER’S VOICE! Dad, through almost 23 years of time you’ve reached out and spoken to me. I cried. At first, I listened in shock, rewind, play, rewind, play, rewind, play. Then I cried. I’d heard my father’s voice for the first time in decades. But it’s so brief, ever so brief, just him saying our phone number at the time and to leave a message. I listened to both sides of the tape and sadly, this was the only capture of his voice. The rest of the tape was filled with me rambling to the machine that so and so would be bringing me home after basketball practice, people calling to leave messages to mom that they were so sorry to hear of his passing, but alas only these few words of my father’s voice. Even now I have tears freely flowing as I write this.

Wow, dad, you sounded a lot more country than I remember. What have I forgotten about you?

My father has been dead for almost two thirds of my life now, aside from a few memories that grow fuzzier each year, I don’t have much to remember him by. I write a yearly letter to tell him of what has happened in my life, you can find the most recent one here, I find it a therapeutic process and it lets me feel for a brief few moments that I still have my father here and that he’s part of my life still. This letter gives me some way of keeping him alive, digitally, by treating him like he’s still there.

Enter NFTs. NFT stands for non-fungible token, they are these blockchain creations that allow you to carry out transactions involving the ownership of a specific digital thing. Recently NFTs have made headlines as people have begun selling digital art. Then I joked to someone about the only known recording of my father’s voice as an NFT to someone.

Well… why not? If I make my father an NFT, I could give him some extension to his digital mortality by getting another person involved in the stewardship of this digital artifact that captures a brief moment of his time on earth. Maybe he’ll go on to be sampled in a song or used by some electronic music artist to be the next “the system is down, the system is down, doo doo doo”, used in a film, catch a news cycle, or maybe someone will become his champion like me and work to keep some fragment of his existence preserved for as long as practically possible.


Mark Mercer, born on January 24th, 1953. Died March 11th, 1998. Rebirthed (sorta) as an NFT on March 17th, 2021.


Dad, you are now a unique digital asset. Your voice now exists as a non-fungible digital property. You could barely operate an electric typewriter and now you 'live' on the internet in the latest in blockchain developments.

The NFT listing can be found here on Rarible.

https://rarible.com/token/0x60f80121c31a0d46b5279700f9df786054aa5ee5:492427:0xc614722ad5e18c1fd61383be57e8b49827248ee1

https://rarible.com/token/0x60f80121c31a0d46b5279700f9df786054aa5ee5:492427?tab=overview


23AD (After Dad), letter to my father 2021

In 8 days you'll have been dead 23 yeas.

Mark+1990's+Speedway,+IN.jpg

It’s been an interesting year. A pandemic has become an ever-present part of our lives since last year… that virus really took hold. I noticed in my records yesterday that on that day last year 5 citizens of the United States had died to the virus, today the confirmed death toll for the United States stands at 531,456 people with the official worldwide reported total at 2,570,265, but likely higher. 29 million confirmed cases in the United States, almost 116 million confirmed cases worldwide. It’s… been an interesting year.

I got married. April 10th, in a church parking lot because of this COVID-19 virus causing everything to be closed with quarantines and people beginning to shelter in place. Married in a parking lot with mom, my wife Amanda’s 2 parents, Trent Cameron performing the ceremony, and a random fox that trotted by while we stood in visual range of rush hour traffic on 267. We had a more sacred religious ceremony in November as pandemic restrictions relaxed just the tiniest amount. My wife is a teacher, one of 12 children, and comes from Missouri. Her father is a retired builder and effectively a lifelong farmer, her mother is a retired teacher, one of her brothers is a medical doctor and another an eye doctor, the rest are all equally intelligent and driven. She’s got dozens of nieces and nephews too and I’ve met some of them.

It seems I was cursed to live in interesting times. 3 years after you died we saw terrorists slam planes into 2 skyscrapers and the Pentagon, we then entered a large-scale military conflict, then another large-scale military conflict, 20 years later and we’ve spent the past year with everyone wearing masks in public, restaurants largely closed to dine-in eating, limits on toilet paper and paper towels at the grocery, for a while last year it was even hard to get a lot of food at the grocery - especially staple foods like beans, rice, flour.

My wife and I drove out to Brazil last summer, I was going stir crazy being stuck in a small apartment during the lockdown really ramping up, I just got on 40 and headed west. When we started to get close to Brazil I looked up where your dad was buried and went and saw the grave. It was a nice and quiet little cemetery there in Brazil. Dick isn’t buried there, but Rhonda has a plot right next to your dad.


In November we moved into a house we bought in Stilesville, it’s about 20 minutes west of Plainfield off of 40, about 30 minutes east of Brazil. It’s a red brick ranch, with a basement, it’s probably about the size of the house you grew up in and roughly the same age. We do not get residential mail delivery, have to go pick stuff up at the post office, that kinda stinks. We’re also on a well which… yeah it’s pretty stinky water, but we are on town sewer. The house has a little over a half-acre of land with maybe a dozen mature trees and a little clear space in the backyard. I actually spent the past 2 days of my vacation tilling and planting, got 100 onions in and 34 potatoes in. I also got about 80 or 90 seeds started and need to start another 40ish tomorrow plus direct-sow some greens. I’m so sore. Hopefully, there is a decent yield but I’m not sure… our soil is pretty dense silty clay loam. I think it would do corn well, and I do plan to plant a little grinding corn as a test, but next year the plan is to build raised garden beds and fill them with soil much better for the types of things we want to grow, I would have this year but we had to put about 5,000 dollars into the well and water purification right after moving in.

I’m still inactive in the Lodge but I am an active dues payer. There’s a Lodge here in town a couple of blocks over, once the virus calms down and we start to see some sort of return to pre-pandemic life I’m going to go visit it. I’m hesitant to now as I’ve found these small towns out here have a lot of covid-deniers that won’t wear masks despite it being the law in some areas and are generally just flippant about even the simplest measures to protect others from them if they happen to be infected. They did a few EAs last week or the week before but it was a hard pass for me given the virus situation.

Oh, remember the mushroom you gave your dad? I still have it, it sits in my office. But one of the first things I bought when we bought the house was a new one that is virtually identical. I was actually going to start painting it today but wore myself out working on the garden. Sometime this spring I’m going to paint it to be somewhat close to the original and then place it outside in our yard, probably under some of the evergreens not unlike how the original was at your dad’s house. The original will remain in my office until I die. I still have your horse and dog statue from your office too, they’re in the basement and I see them every day when I go down to empty the dehumidifier. An old photo of you and your flag sit in my office too.

I’m 1 year, 7 months, 11 days sober on my current stretch as I write this. Hopefully, I can continue that indefinitely.

Mom is doing ok. She’s still got a lot of health issues but she’s recovering well from her most recent surgery a few weeks ago. She moved in with a friend earlier this year in Avon to be closer to her doctors, and stuff in general. It’s a 20ish minute drive just for us to get to a grocery store.

Bun is well too. These days he spends his time in a cabinet, just sitting there greeting me with a smile when I open the door to get my razor or any number of other things. I love that little dude, he’s always there for me.

I heard your voice for the first time in 2 decades last year, just the quickest of words on the answering machine tape. I wish there was more. You sounded far more country than I remembered. I also listened to your funeral for the first time since it happened this year, I even put the audio of it up on the internet with a slideshow of images of you https://youtu.be/0o-OeM8qRVc

You know, I’ve lived almost 64% of my life without you. That kinda sucks. I wonder what you’d be doing if you were still here. I wonder what you’re doing now. I wonder what you’d think of me as a wildly bearded, balding, GED toting, overweight, stuck in a dead-end job in an entry-level position 15 years after hiring in.

Anyway, I’d better wrap this up. I’ll talk to you next year.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave bereft
I am not there. I have not left.

Past letters.