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