The Day My Music Died :: Personal Narrative, Autobiographical Essay

Some memories never fade. Tucked away in the accordion file of our minds, some memories live forever. Some memories walk hand in hand with us to our six-foot retirement homes. And though it is true that some are great blessings, some memories scar the hopes, some memories mar our dreams. In my heart I will always have a passion for music. The rhythm of the beat is the blood in my veins. I can close my eyes and hear the notes, tasting the sweet sound they leave on the top of my tongue. The sound of my soul, that reverberates inside the corridors of my heart. I feel empty without its presence, naked without the silken cloth of sound. This is my life; this is my true love. But love does not pay the bills, my father would say to me, loosening his tie and kicking off his leather shoes, those tight leather shoes. I like my sandals, I thought to myself, as I had so many times before. After all, thinking seems to be the only thing to do. I couldn't speak; I couldn't put that replenishing sound into his heart. Hell, thinking was the only cure. It sure beat hearing another lecture on the myopia of my dreams. Really, I was tired of it all. Every time I tried to tell my father about the passion, the sheer energy that music provided for me, my words fell on deaf ears. Listening, he would cross his arms and nod his head in that patronizing way. Soon, I could no longer distinguish the true meaning of any of my father's gestures. In our home, a nod no longer meant yes; a smile no longer meant happiness. As soon as my father realized that I was serious about being a musician, his world and mine collided head on. Father always believed in the importance of politics. He lived his life based on the philosophy that it isn't what you do, but who you know that really matters in the world. I still cringe at the thought of such an idea. I was never the one to go after people. I wasn't the type of person who you would interview when composing a "How to Win Friends and Influence People" book. If for some reason I didn't feel like grinning like a birthday boy upon making the acquaintance of a friend of my fathers, then that was that.