The Exhilarating Gift
48266 is the number once used by local operators to dial my father’s home in Shelby, Ohio.
Dad shared that detail with me recently while on safari. We were standing next to each other one afternoon as our safari jeep rumbled along, with our heads poking through its roof windows.
We talked of his birthplace, his parents, his home. It’s a conversation that leads to deep well of questions for me, like the bedtime story a child asks for over and over. The grandparents I never knew. Small town. Small church. Big industry. And … music.
Music was part of everything, Dad tells me. He played in a jazz band led by my grandfather. My grandfather led the church choir. My grandmother played the piano. My dad fell for music and the trombone early … and that passion has stayed with him to this day.
He toyed with pursuing music as a profession. At some point, though, my Dad decided to go a different direction. He went to the Navy, to law school, then a long legal career.
“My parents didn’t want me to pursue music,” Dad explained in the safari jeep. Music wasn’t sensible in those days. He was encouraged to seek out more practical professions.
Dad talked of some regret, yes … but it’s also true that he and his brother are now playing regular jazz gigs in a Brooklyn club. He’d always dreamed of being a paid musician in New York. Now he is.
Of the MOST interest to me, however, is how Dad has harnessed and wrestled with and tried to ignore and reignited his passion, passion, passion for music over the years. We talked of these things, too. Music is so powerful, so consuming, so emotional … that it is at the same time intensely exhilarating … and intensely painful. I want it so badly, but cannot engage with it in pieces that are too small or too unpracticed or too unperfect.
It’s hard to explain … but I stumbled through an attempt to explain that afternoon with Dad on safari, as he stood next to me.
This is how he responded: “It’s that way for me, too.”
This entry touched me deeply. Of course I can relate to the passion for music, but this deep connection with a parent is something I’ve never had. What a blessing to share these memories together.
Loved this story, too. One of my favorites – perhaps because I know and admire both of the men involved. And you all do have a wonderful bond. Got me all “vahclempt.” My other favorite vignette was of the deaf and blind older man and woman. Beautiful scene of love and intimacy between the two of them that you described. Really struck a chord. (Pun intended here!)
Like Amy, this story also touches me deeply. With my father’s sudden illness and death last week, I’ve been thinking about the fact that I no longer have an opportunity to ask him questions about his childhood, our family history, etc. I’m glad that you do.
This is really special. Thank you for sharing.
You know Jimmy that my Dad was killed by lightning on the 8th hole at Belle Meade golf course when I was 18.I am overjoyed that you are talking to your Dad in the safari truck.
Mama Liz played the piano and Aunt Sue is playing her Boston piano in the piano study club. David has the ear for jazz and I plunk along with piano lessons each week taught by David’s former piano teacher. I have a set of tunes that I call my own. My Dad would have a good laugh knowing I am continually trying to master the keys with minimum success..
Uncle Andy