Musings of an Aging Nobody

It was The Dave Clark Five in the early sixties that caused a young “want to be” rock star at seven or eight years old to begin to fantasize about playing the saxophone one day in a band.

Our grandson Cameron,  age six, asked Santa for a tuba for Christmas.

A tuba.

We don’t know why he wanted a tuba for Christmas.  Not that there is anything wrong with that or the tuba,  I just can’t think of any cool current bands with a tuba player.

Our ritual for putting Cameron to sleep includes Kim and me each individually going in to visit him to say goodnight. The other night while I was in saying good night to Cameron, he asked me:

“Pop Pop, why didn’t Santa bring me a tuba?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe he wants you to first learn to play your guitar, your drums, your harmonica, and your piano.  Then it will be easier for you to learn how to play the tuba.”

So because of the Dave Clark Five, when I turned nine years old and was able to start the music program in grammar school (sorry that is elementary school for those of you who aren’t from Jersey),  I got my first saxophone.    I was in the fourth grade and played it until I was in the seventh grade.

When I was twelve I got my first harmonica.

When I was sixteen or seventeen I put my first guitar on lay-away at Jack’s Music Shop in Red Bank New Jersey.

I now have six guitars, a number that equals the number of chords I know how to play on those guitars. I have two saxophones, and I have about twenty harmonicas.

Though I have a deep love of music I think my self-diagnosed attention deficit disorder never allowed me to master any one of those instruments beyond the point of just being able to have fun.

Last night, while listening to some music, I started thinking about Cameron and his tuba.

Then I started thinking about me and my musical instruments.

So naturally that led to the thought that I had to write something about all this.  Next, I remembered I had once written something that I thought at the time was really cool, that might fit somewhere in this developing concept.

So I started searching my spiral notebooks,  and then my computer files,  but I never did find those really cool words I once wrote that I thought would be so fitting.  Though it was definitely way cooler than this,  what I wrote back then had a similar theme to this:

I don’t know why I never learned to play harp like Delbert.

And I don’t know why I never played saxophone like Clarence.

Or learned to play the guitar like Bruce, or sing like Richie Furay, or write songs like Hiatt.

 

And I don’t know now what any of this has to do with anything…except maybe confirming my ADD tendencies.

But there was something else.

Because while I was searching for those really cool lyrics that were never found, I did find this:

My Mom Often tells me

By Donny

 

My mom often tells me, I love you.

When I am in the most miserable mood ever, and my mom is yelling I still know all of this yelling will later be followed by I love you. 

This saying reassures me that everything will always be alright.  It lets me know that somebody cares for you.  This saying makes you feel like everything I’m doing is fine and I should keep up the good work.  I don’t understand why when my mom says I love you, it means a lot more than when anybody else on earth says it, I love my mom.  She is my mentor, my friend, and someone I look up to.  I couldn’t ask for a better mom.  I thank God for blessing me with a gift like this

 

I don’t know why Santa didn’t bring Cameron a tuba.

And I will never know why God took Donny away from us either.

But I am happy that I found this essay of Donny’s since Monday is Donny’s birthday and sometimes we just need to get these messages.

A message that “reassures me that everything will always be alright.” 

So happy birthday Donny!

I can assure you that your mother still loves you.

And that everything will be alright.

Oh…and tell somebody that you love them, it means something.