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March 06, 2006
Striking The Right Chord
I was sitting and playing my guitar this morning. I hit one of the strings and the ensuing note struck a chord deep inside me. It was an interesting trigger. In a nanosecond the sound took me back in time to where that chord first embedded itself in my soul.
It's incredible how fast it happened. One minute I was sitting in my studio with my guitar and the next second I was a boy of nine or ten sitting in my bed in the middle of the night.
I'm not sure what woke me up, but I felt a little insecure in the dark and went to my parent's room to see if they were awake.
I sometimes felt scared at night and I would stand by their door just to hear them breath. The steady sound of their slow deep-sleep breathing soothed me.
That night, as I approached my parent's room, I noticed that my dad's studio light was on.
I tiptoed up the stairs and peeked into the studio door.
Only his desk lamp was on and the room was bathed in a warm light.
My dad was hunched over his drawing board with his elbows on the board and his face resting in his hands.
I didn't want to disturb him, so I just stood and watched.
It was only minutes, but it felt like hours.
His radio was on softly. The Mama's and the Papa's were singing California Dreamin'.
I have always loved the opening chord from that song.
Finally I cleared my throat.
My dad looked up.
"Oh, hi Trev," he said, extending his arms toward me. "How's it going my boy?"
"You okay?" I asked, as he wrapped his arms around me.
"Rough day. Lot on my mind."
I knew that we were struggling financially and my dad was desperately trying to make a living as an artist. It really hurt him that he could not support us like he wanted to.
"Is it money?" I asked.
"Among other things," he said. "You couldn't sleep either, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, snuggling into his chest.
I felt safe and secure wrapped in his arms.
"Can I help?" I asked, leaning back and looking into his kind but tired eyes.
I was saving for my very first guitar and had a jar full of money.
I would happily have given him every cent.
" Yeah you can help," he said, softly.
"How?" I asked.
"C'mere and hold me." He said, putting his arms around me again.
"Just hold me. That will really help."
He was crying.
I held my dad for the longest time.
Posted by trevor at March 6, 2006 07:02 PM
Comments
I want to be like your dad!
Posted by: SteveG at March 8, 2006 09:13 AM
Beautiful story, Trevor. Don't you think it amazing that your father and the pivitol little boy in the South African hospital both asked you to hold them? I have never heard that request from anyone in my entire life. Your arms must have magic.
Posted by: Shelley Noble at March 8, 2006 07:11 PM