48 lines
1.9 KiB
Markdown
48 lines
1.9 KiB
Markdown
---
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date: 2019-08-30
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weight: 1
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---
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<audio autoplay controls src="/miniatures/1.mp3"></audio>
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I did not fall into music of my own accord, my dad bought me a saxophone.
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> As his dad bought him before you.
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He wanted us to be alike in so many ways.
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> But you already knew that.
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He got me a saxophone and he and my mom pooled resourses to get me lessons.
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> And showed you to all his friends.
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I played at his Christmas parties. I played at his neighbor's Christmas parties.
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> Once, he was going to show you off to his friends at a barbeque, and you got so anxious and upset that you bent the octave key out of shape. You could only produce squeaks. You said it was an accident.
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I did it to get out of playing for the party, and instead it got me in trouble for being careless.
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> You were anything but. You were very careful. You acted with intent.
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I kept playing. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it wasn't.
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> Once, you told your mom you weren't sure why she or your dad bothered with you learning to play the saxophone when all life was meaningless, anyway.
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How old was I, then? Ten? Eleven?
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> Dad made you apologize to her. I don't think either knew what to do with a nihilistic preteen.
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But it worked, in a roundabout way. I wound up in music. I wound up playing the saxophone and even sometimes enjoying it. I moved from that to the oboe.
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And not just playing. I listened to tapes until they wore out. I made mixtapes of my dad's music after he taught me how to program his six-disc CD changer. After that, it was mix CDs, which I'd listen to on the bright yellow Sport Discman I carried everywhere. I fell asleep with headphones on more than once.
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Music held --- continues to hold --- this sense of mystery about it. It worked on some level below spoken language, understandable without being text, affecting emotions without the cadence of words.
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> So why'd you quit?
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I can't just say "computers" and beg off, here, can I?
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> Nope.
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