My father is a musician, unfortunately, not by trade. He has amazing talent with a guitar. I grew up taking his skills for granted. After watching him play, I honestly thought that learning the guitar would be easy because my dad made it look so effortless. Whenever he thought he figured out a new song, we would play name that tune. It was awesome getting to hear him play. Now, that his music has stopped, I appreciate what a gift he had.
The Music was everything to him. He rarely watched TV. He was always playing, always writing something new, always listening to music. I said in my profile that music has played a huge part of my life. Not just because of my dad’s music, but because he spoke in song. He found a solace in the music. Every time anything big happened, and every time anything small happened, he related to a lyric. When I turned 16 he gave me a locket with the engraving “May you remain forever young.” When I left for Oklahoma he gave me a pendant with the engraving, “May the four winds blow you safely home.” When my parents divorced and everything went from bad to insane, he said to me “This too shall pass.” When my brother left for the Navy, he said “If you get confused, just listen to the music play.” The list goes on and on…
I used to hate. I got mad at my dad and told him that life isn’t as simple as a song. Lyrics were his way of communicating. He was never one to talk about his feelings, or be outwardly emotional. The first and only time I have seen my father cry was at my grandmother’s funeral. He felt an extreme guilt for how the last few days of her life had gone. I never realized, until much later in life, that he really believed what he was saying through lyrics. He may not have had the words, but someone else had already expressed – nothing we can say that hasn’t been said.
So music has been a struggle for me. I love the thoughts that my father has conveyed, but I hated that they were someone else’s words…
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