The Drum Beats no Longer
The Daily Prompt today asked about a musical instrument. It surprises me sometimes where a few words in print can lead you back to another life.
My bio-father was a musician, that is to say when he wasn’t doing other things for money. He recorded at Sun Records in Memphis, TN. Yes THAT Sun Records. And yes he was a truck driver. No, he wasn’t Elvis. But he was from Tupelo, MS. He was a drummer and singer primarily.
I don’t know if I ever heard him sing for certain. I had his record once until I smashed it into a million pieces and threw it away.
I’m told I would be placed on the side of a pool table and shoot pool as an infant and entertain the people while he performed. But things are passed down from one generation to the next. For me, I have rhythm. I can keep a beat without a thought.
Everything became a drum when I was tiny. Both sides of my family were musical. My maternal grandfather was a singer as well. Both musical men ended up leaving their families.
I was discouraged greatly in regards to music. I guess maybe it was because musicians were associated with wandering men in my family, or bad men. Now I write words to songs that I cannot put music to. I hear it in my mind but cannot put it to paper.
With my concussion and the results I cannot listen to music any longer. I guess finally they’ve won. No more music possibilities for me. I still write songs, but they are poems now. The reader can make their own music to match what they feel.
I never look at the bad as bad. You can always use it for something good. Sure, it’s bad for you but you can use that experience in life to help someone else. It only stays bad if you let it stay bad.
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