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Dad's Guitar: Learning The Stories Of A Man's Life Though His Music

Each person has a lifetime of stories totime his heart wasn't in it and the guitar
share. As a child of divorce, I got to knowgathered the dust of loneliness.Cancer came
my father when I was 16. That was the summerinto his life and the guitar was summned to
he shared his love of guitar and music withduty again, it was his life jacket. He
me: I heard the stories of his wonderful,played his music on good days and the guitar
musical life.I spent many evenings listeningwaited when he was too weak. Last
to dad play, the music he wrote and theSeptember it was displayed beside a wreath of
pieces that had inspired him, stories of hisflowers and my father's ashes. It
musical past spinning in the air like sparksreturned to its case and wasn't played
from a campfire. We talked music theory likesince.As I grieve from losing my father, I am
it was tabloid gossip and we made musicconsoled by the stories other people
together until the sun was long past set andhave about my father. My mother recently
our fingers were worn.There were someshared her story from a time when she
stories I never learned and I suppose heand he were first married and before I was
always thought there'd be time toborn. She described how he sat
eventually share all the details that madecross-legged and hunched over in their tiny
his past up.I sometimes wonder whatapartment, leaning into his guitar and
interested him in guitar and how old he wasstrumming softly. Mom says he always had a
when he first strummed the strings: E A Ddistant look of concentration as he
G B E. I suppose he learned it from hisplayed his way through a song, like a
mother when he could barely speak, as shescientist bent over a microscope working
herself played. There are old recordingsthings out. I know that face.That is how I
with the children strumming vaguely familiarremember him best, playing his music.Losing
German folk songs, singing words I don'tmy father made me aware that every family has
understand.I frequently imagine my teenageda thousand stories bursting to shared.
father at the end of a line, flanked by hisIt was time for me to share my father's
six younger siblings lined up tallest tostories with my four-year-old son,
smallest, all of them dressed in clothesRyan. Time for him to understand our love for
made from drapes. I've added the dramaticmusic and why I wept at night.It was
climax where he decided to leave thelike the guitar was waiting for me this whole
family production, making a symbollic andtime, hoping I would pluck its heavy
shocking leap from "The Sound ofstrings and pull out the notes that were my
Music" to "A Hard Day'sfather's life. I picked it up and held
Night."Dad did share the story of theit close; so much heavier than my hollow
time in his life when he discovered the rawlittle violin. Large fingerprints on
sounds of the Beatles and Led Zeppelin inthe varnish that won't be imprinted ever
the 60's and abandoned his classical studies.again, a scent of cigarette smoke in the
Around that time he left home and met myleather strap. I fumbled over a few
mother. He grew his hair out and learned thechords I learned from watching him play so
chords to songs that made his parents'many summers ago.Ryan watched mesmerized, a
toes curl. He must have mellowed with age,familiar intensity filled his eyes and he
because I "met him" again he hadunderstood what I was sharing with him.
returned to his classical roots.Dad alwaysHis sweet, compassionate voice swept away my
had a quirky dream to play an electric guitarpain as he asked gently "can I
with a large classical width neck, aplay Grandpa's guitar,
Frankenstein of an instrument that wouldplease?"**Rhiannon Schmitt (nee
merge his love of classical and classicNachbaur) is a professional violinist and
rock. So for two years he and I watched amusic teacher who has enjoyed creative
luthier turn a shapeless chunk of woodwriting for years. She writes for two
into a stunning instrument. My father lovedCanadian publications and Australia's "Music
that guitar like a soulmate and playedTeacher Magazine.
it for hours at a time. Then for a long



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