Category: Musings

This past week was hard. I wrote and posted some pretty harsh words. The topics engender my ire and stoke my passion. Injustice and hatred have always been triggers for me.
The issues that I wrote about are absolutely links in chains that bind many, many people. I would love to see those links broken, lying on the ground in pieces. So, I write about them hoping that my words may enlighten and encourage others who struggle, as I have.
There are other links and other chains, though, that are just as binding. These are ones that bind us to a particular path in life. They hold us fast to iron fixtures that are fastened to the cold, stone of dungeon prisons.
We all have them.
They are made up of the expectations that we, and others, have piled on us over the years. The lost or missed opportunities to pursue our dreams are the bolts that secure the chain. Words that may have been meant to guide, yet became the shackles that have held us fast, unable to move.
When I was young I remember wanting to make things that people liked. I drew pictures. I made up songs and dances. I was a kid! And, kids do these things as expressions of what they are learning. We all wanted our productions, our ‘art,’ to be accepted. How many of us who drew a picture that our mom or dad just gushed praise on said, “Here! Wait! I’ll do another one!” Then we ran off to our paper and crayons and instantly produced another masterpiece. Just walk into any American home today where young children live and take a look at the refrigerator. Most will have all kinds of magnets that secure the work of a budding Renoir or, maybe better, a young Picasso.
“Here! Look what I made!”
We grow older, but the desire to create things that please oneself and others is still there. We just choose other ways of expressing that creativity. For me, it was music. I was blessed, (cursed?), to grow up when rock was young. Bands like The Beatles and Jan & Dean were popping up all over. Folk music was at the pinnacle of its popularity. I remember standing in our living room with The New Christy Minstrels playing “Green, Green” on our mono record player while holding a tennis racket like a guitar. Yep! The beginnings of air guitar right there. My parents thought that I might like learning how to play the real thing. So, at 9 years old, I was presented with my first instrument. I don’t remember the brand. I just remember that it was a big old acoustic with a warped neck. I couldn’t even press the string to the fretboard past the third fret. But, it was mine! My dad signed me up for lessons at a local music store. “Gardner’s Academy of Music.” My teacher was the owner. King Gardner. He was an older guy, thinning hair and a mustache. After taking lessons for a while it became apparent that the instrument I had was woefully inadequate. So, my dad parted with $80 to buy me a red sunburst Harmony Rocket. Wow! My first electric guitar! King also sold us the small Danelectro amp that we used in his studio. I was set. Watch out world! Here I come!
I joined my first band when I was 12. We knew, I don’t know, about 8 songs. But, that was enough to play parties and some dances. And, if nothing else, we were loud! I continued to play and learn. At one point I spent about 8 hours everyday practicing. I walked around thinking guitar and playing air guitar. My dad used to chide me, “What? Are you afflicted? One hand waving in the air and the other scratching your navel.”
Soon, though, reality began to set in. At least for those people who knew better. My parents began to press me toward learning something that I could actually make a “real” living at. Aunts and Uncles soon joined that chorus. I had to listen. They were older and wiser that I was.
“You can have it as a hobby, of course. But, you’ll never make a living doing that.”
Ok. I kept playing in small bands on weekends. It was fun, I guess. But, the joy of discovery and forging a new path in the Unknown was gone. What had once been a fiery passion had now been tamed. As B. B. King once sang, “The Thrill is Gone.” Of course, his song was about a relationship between two people. It was still fitting for me, though.
A link was forged.
The chain made longer…heavier.
I share this because I think that we all have similar experiences. We find something that fires our passions. We find joy, love, acceptance, and accomplishment. Then, someone comes along and says, “Well, that’s real nice and all. But, it’s not real.” Or, “That thing will never fly, Orville.” Over years we listen to these voices. Many times, perhaps most, it’s our own voice telling us these things. We become so conditioned to what’s right or acceptable that we learn that language and speak it to ourselves.
I don’t know. I’m just rambling. Maybe, it’s the time of year. Maybe, it’s the time of life.
They say we can never go back. And, they’re right.
But, maybe we can start something new.
Maybe there’s still hope for that child who was so full of wonder and delight to poke an impish face around that corner and say,

  “SURPRISE!”