Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Music Won't Wait

Most writers began telling their own stories because they loved to read. I wasn't any different. Grew up reading everything I could put my hands on, and I have my father to thank for that. He loved to read and I followed his lead early and often.

Dad taught me a lot of things, but I didn't share his other talents. He was a whiz of a carpenter, building a beautiful family room on our South Florida home. He had a knack for knowing how things worked and how to fix them when they broke. I'm so inept, my wife had to explain which end of a hammer to use.

Dad also had a pretty fair singing voice, while I couldn't carry a tune in a wheelbarrow. Not that he would have given Pavarotti any competition, but he could belt out a song, impressing his friends and family.

One thing dad couldn't do was play the piano. I remember him sharing that secret wish one day, and telling me he was going to get around to it before he was too old. Dad didn't usually share his feelings except when my brother or me made him mad. Then he let us know how he felt — big time. But he surprised me when he said he wanted to write songs and jingles, and thought playing the piano was the first step in the process. Words and music rattled around in his head, and he was convinced if he could play the music, the songs would come to life for him.

Perhaps it was all a dream, but we'll never know.

Dad waited until he had a heart attack before he bought an old stand-up piano. I recall visiting him and seeing the piano sitting in a corner of the family room. He said he was going to hire a teacher and learn to play as soon as he felt a little better. And he did. He'd just started his lessons when a second heart attack ended his dreams and his life at the young age of 52.

That was forty years ago this summer, but I often think about my dad and his unfulfilled dreams. We spend our lives working, raising a family. We pay bills, go on vacations, and back to work. It seems like we're waiting for some divine signal to start our real lives, putting off our dreams until the time is right.

"When the kids graduate, we can travel."

"When I pay off the mortgage, I'm going to write that book."

"When I retire, I'll learn to play the piano."

I've told my sons the story of my father and his piano dreams. Told them not to delay pursuing their passions because when it comes to how long we'll be around, we're not our own timekeepers.

Go ahead, play the piano and write your songs while the rhythm of life surges.

The music won't wait.

(See how I made one of my dreams come true with my newest book, MATANZAS BAY)

5 comments:

Richard said...

Great post. Your father was a lot like mine.

Vic DiGenti said...

Richard,

Thanks for the comment. We're lucky to have dads who helped shape us.

Dannie Hill said...

Great post for all of us who loved and have lost dads.

You know what I've learned after raising three great children and being able to live a dream after they grew up-- I'm a writer now, but if I had died while doing the things I did for my family-- it would have been more than I could ask for! You're dad sounds like a great guy doing what he loved!

Evilous said...

This was great. I got a keyboard for Christmas, always wanting to learn myself. I am not very good but I started to teach myself from a book. I gave up a couple months ago but I think now I may go try again. Very nice piece and it's wonderful to remember your father this way and be able to share these stories to inspire others.

Tara said...

What a beautiful and inspiring post. And so, so true. Thanks for the reminder.