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. 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 some things were beyond my abilities. 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 stopped working. 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 I made him mad. Then he let me 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. 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, 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, jump in before life makes alternate plans for us.
So go ahead, play the piano and write your songs while the rhythm of life surges. One thing is certain, the music won't wait.
Vic DiGenti made one of his dreams come true when he wrote and published his first mystery, MATANZAS BAY.Visit him at www.windrusher.com.
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