4:44 PM, Tuesday, December 15th, 2009:
Immersed in all things "The Journey" while editing the "10 Year Anniversary Show" I get the newsletter from my father that a new entry is up on his blog. I'm posting it in its entirety:
The Battle of the Bands is in two weeks.
It’s a big deal: TV, radio and newspaper coverage, a live recording featuring the top five bands on a two-disc LP and all-but-guaranteed additional bookings.
You’ve been saving money from your after-school job for nearly a year, working for $1.45 an hour. You need $995. You know it will add a new dimension to the band’s sound and could certainly help in this contest. You have it on lay-a-way, but it won’t be paid off in time for the “battle.”
There’s only one thing you can do: ask the music store owner to let you use the electric piano that afternoon and then return it – something he has never allowed with an item this expensive. Because of it’s popularity with national groups like The Left Banke and The Association, it’s in high demand and his is one of only three in the entire state.
To your complete surprise, he honors your request.
After the event, you go back to the store, excited to tell him your band came in second place and came close to garnering the top spot because that band violated one of the rules and was nearly disqualified. The owner smiles warmly while you recap the day’s events.
”Man, it was incredible! There were so many people! You should’ve been there! It was great!” As you head out the back door to bring in the keyboard, you feel a tap on your shoulder.
“Just take it home with you and keep paying on it like you’ve been doing. I know you’re good for it.”
“Really? Thank you! Thank you!“
“You’re welcome. Oh, and by the way, I look forward to seeing your band again.”
“Yes, again. I was there today. You guys were great.”
The rest of the summer is a whirlwind of engagements, local TV show appearances and newspaper articles. You’re having the time of your life.
But then comes Fall and with it, the start of another school year.
It also means the 2nd Annual Lecture on putting aside what grown-ups are reluctant to even call a “hobby.” This time, the lecture comes from an uncle on your mother’s side, who, for some inexplicable reason, feels she needs his help raising you.
He starts out with the usual,
“It’s time to put away the music and concentrate on your studies.”
This year, you decide to disagree.
“I can do both.”
“No you can’t, and you won’t,” he says, truly startled at your opposition to his command. “Playing music will get you nowhere. You need to forget this nonsense and bury yourself in your schoolwork!”
Then comes the ”never-been-done-before” move: you talk back to your uncle.
“I just shelled out a thousand bucks on this ‘nonsense’ and I am not going to forget about it for the next nine months.”
You back up slightly as the last words come out of your mouth. In rapid-fire, non-cohesive - yet seemingly rehearsed - verbal bursts, he yells,
“What did you say? You can’t talk to me that way! How much? Does my sister know about this?”
Feeling somewhat confident that you weren’t going to get knocked across the room, you only answer the last question.
“Yup. Mom was there when I bought it.”
Now comes the other lecture – the one where your mother scolds you for talking back to an elder and implicating her as a co-conspirator. But after a few finger-pointing comments, she finds humor in the situation.
“You really said that to him?” she asks, starting to smile.
“Yeah. I guess I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” you admit, while revealing a certain pride in your “performance.”
Breaking into laughter, she says,
“Yes, you should’ve.” Then, with a failed attempt at regaining her “I’m-upset-with-you” composure, she mumbles, “Don’t let your grades slip.”
She had a love for dance, working her way through college teaching at an Arthur Murray Dance Studio. Her unrealized dream was to someday go to New York and dance on Broadway. At seventy years old, she still commanded attention when she hit the floor.
Thanks for understanding, Mom.
I have to say, other than my own offspring, I don't think I could ever be more proud of inspiring someone. It's not because I helped him set-up the site, or gave him some of the technical know-how to do it. It's that in the entire time he's followed "The Journey" there's always been something I could never fully communicate to him (or anyone, really); what it feels like to "tell your story". I've watched him for nearly 8 months now go through exactly what I went through with my site. This transformation where you start to see what really matters. Where you are able to go back through your life and pinpoint moments that make you who you are. It's a public way of "finding yourself" and I'm watching him do it. He knows that when he's gone, these are the words that will live forever. These are the stories that will be told. It's a beautiful discovery to watch someone else process. And, in a few paragraphs about his mother, he said more about her character and spirit than most in our family will have ever had the opportunity to experience when she was alive. Making those connections are so important. Figuring out why you're wired the way you are... is one of the greatest parts of life to me, and now clearly to my father.
Throw-in what I'm currently working on? And you can imagine how meaningful everything is to me right now. The support my grandmother gave my father touches me the same way. She, along with my other grandmother Nana, helped Jess and I tremendously in 2000 and without that help there simply would not be this journey. It all comes full circle. I adore this story he posted. It's like this giant inspiration circle and reading it in the midst of putting this show together is absolutely perfect. This show is the epitome of "telling your story" and you want so desperately to feel that it's worth your blood, sweat and tears. I can unequivocally say now, that it is.
See you all on the 2nd.