My Musical Family
Visiting with my brother today reminded me of how
music can define a family.
My brother Tom’s daughter and her two young
daughters are living with Tom and wife Diana. Every generation of our family has
received a good dose of music, and one kid a generation is outstanding. Everyone
has been noting how musical is the oldest, Arianna, She has been learning songs
at an amazing rate for a seven year old. And, she has been teaching herself to
play the piano.
I get back to my hometown a few times a
year. A couple of visits ago, I noticed that Ari was playing this little
kid’s tune on the piano, the one that uses alternately the two index
fingers on each hand playing the black keys: A# F# G# F# D# F# C# F#. She had
the first strain right (it repeats three times), but hadn’t learned how to
finish it. She kept eyeing me as she was playing it. Everyone else in the room
seemed oblivious to this little drama, but I simply went over and taught her the
ending, which continues the downward descent of the bottom note (underline
represents an octave lower): A# F# G# F# F# F# F#. She picked it right up. Not
only that, but a couple of months later, when she and her sister came roaring
into the room on another visit, she headed straight to the piano and immediately
reminded everyone of her accomplishment musically. Again, I got it.
Then on
a still later visit, I taught her chopsticks, which she again immediately
announced on this most recent visit today. Ari and I are on the same page,
musically speaking. Tom had brought to the four generations of us Papa
John’s square pizza and wife Diana had brought brownies and ice cream.
There was my 92-year-old mom, brother Tom and wife, daughter Heidi, and the two
daughters. There were lots of laughs and jokes and catching up with Uncle Jim
and Uncle Stephen.
Then it happened, the miracle of musical
kinship. My brother has forged his own musical path as guitar player and
songwriter. I’m in the middle of another conversation as I hear that he
has taught Ari the Alphabet Song: “A, you’re adorable, B,
you’re so beautiful, C, you’re a cutie full of charm.” I
jumped up, sat down at the piano, identified the key they were singing in, and
in an instant the room was full of the song, accompaniment and all. The little
girls were getting one of the most effective music lessons any child could hope
to have: being surrounded by music-loving and music-making relatives.
It’s just always been that way for us.
My brother and I played sax and piano a la Paul Desmond and Dave Brubeck when we
roomed together in college. In high school the three sibs, my sister, brother
and I, had a whole repertory of pop songs that we sang three-part harmony to,
accompanied by my guitar playing. There was Peter, Paul and Mary’s
“San Francisco Bay Blues,” The Beach Boys’ “In My
Room,” and on and on: “I Put a Spell on You, “ “My Baby
Wrote Me a Letter,”
But how did we get there? Mom and dad sang
to us as we drove to the open-air theatre. We sang the songs of an older
generation when we were just babies. “On a Chinese Honeymoon,”
“Dinah, Won’t You Blow Your Horn,” and “On the Banks of
the Wabash.” Mom taught herself to play the piano, and dreamed of a son
who could play Chopin. She got me. Her grandmamma was one of twelve German
immigrants, and they had their own country music band: grandma played concertina
and harmonica, and her brother Dan played violin. My dad’s dad was a
singer, and his dad was legendary for being able to stand in the town square of
Binche, Belgium and be heard for six blocks. I haven’t even mentioned that
Tom’s other child, Adam, (Heidi’s twin brother) got the musical
genius in that generation: he’s working on a masters degree in piano
performance.
Here’s a thought I’m going to
leave you with. You know how when you go to a movie without music, you really
notice it? It seems that something is really missing. Who can imagine Star Wars
without John William’s music? Anyway, the point is, in my life, in my
family, there is always background music. I wouldn’t know what to do
without it. Music makes my heart glad and my life fuller.
P.S.:
Many thanks for the baby pic to Milwaukee
Moms.
Posted: Wed - November 2, 2005 at 11:31 AM Of Course It's Boring, Idiot To Soothe the Savage Beast Previous Next Feedback |
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Published On: Mar 18, 2009 10:50 AM
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