The Music In My Life: Part I

Our cheap laminate floors were always hard and cold in the winter. I walked down the hallway one day soon after Christmas when suddenly there was a commotion and my parents rushed me out of the room – instructing me to go to my bedroom and close my eyes. Supposedly, “Santa” was visiting yet again because he had forgotten one of my presents. Excited, I ran to the bedroom, covered my eyes, and used all my wits to NOT look out the bedroom window in hopes of catching a glimpse of Santa. Minutes later, I was told that Santa had left and that I could come and get my present.

A large package was wrapped and sitting on the couch just for me. My tiny hands eagerly unwrapped it to discover a real record player with denim covering. It was the type that played the black records that my sisters listened to. I already had a “record player” that played “special” records. They were plastic, much prettier, and I liked to run my fingers around the edges. The music from those records was much better than those of my sisters but it seemed to be such a big event for me to have one that I got caught up in the excitements.

Soon after, my father called me into the dining room to play the record player. I crawled up into the big chair as his large rough hands began to load some records onto the player. The one I remember most was Johnny Cash’s “Cry, Cry, Cry.” It was carefully explained to me that if I were to tell anyone about the stuff going on in the house then I would end up all alone. I would have no father, no mother, and no sisters. It would be me who would be the one to “cry, cry, cry.”

My sisters must not have known the real meaning of that song because they played it quite a bit and tended to tease me because it made me cry so hard. My parents got so aggravated that they would scold them to stop.

I wish so much that I could express how that musical threat branded itself into every ounce of my being and dominated my every action. Music has played such an intricate role in my life, threading in and out through most aspects of my being. There are no words. He knew a most sensitive place to strike and used that to his advantage. I never told anyone.