Play Time

I too have a desire to stand on the stage with a voice that has the beauty of Jonsi, the howl of Robert Plant, the soar of Adele, the high notes of Jeff Buckley, the low notes of Mark Eitzel, the strut of Mick, the sexiness of Marvin, the emotion of Bruce, the soul of Tina, the rawness of Axl – talk about greedy. And yet I still want more, because I also want to be shredding a Gibson Les Paul at 11 through a stack of Marshalls. Catchy melodies and an occasional solo, hands sliding up and down the neck, bending the strings, working the peddles – play guitar as Mellencamp once said. 

Some say all boys love the guitar for its phallic extension, there is no doubt I would love to play the opening riff of Whole Lotta Love so I can feel it in my loins. But one of my two greatest regrets from youth, not sticking with musical training and not paying better attention or practice in German class. So this desire to be the ultimate front man and ultimate lead guitarist might paint the picture of a man filled with grand delusions of grandeur, no doubt there is some part of me that enjoys the center, wants to take home the girl. But there is also the potential for positive internal comfort that comes from the mastery of difficult skills and living an artists’ life. While I rarely, if ever, admit it – I love to perform. I enjoy the ledge, the preparation, the partnership, and that adrenaline rush so unique to the performance (part of why I love teaching).

As for sports, like a good boy, I played many in my youth. But by my late teens, I had one sports infatuation and that was basketball.  But other than park district ball, the school playground was the only witness to my sporadic glory and far too many bricks.

But I grew up in the Jordan era. So, again, I had daydreams of the basketball court – skying for a rebound, drop-step fade away jumper, dunking over some poor soul, the game-winning basket. If you liked basketball in the Jordan era and you watched closely like I did for a lot of years, you saw someone play with everything he had every night on the court – whether a meaningless game against the Clippers or six championship finals. You also were witness to something astonishing every night, some impossible shot, and shutdown defense. You changed watching him play, he changed you, and how you thought about the game, the possibilities. My interest for basketball has waned in the years since, changed for many reasons. So have my opinions about the man off the court, but those memories resonate still to this day and conjure up an occasional asphalt wonderland.

The grace and power of surfing has always intrigued me, I got up once or twice on a long board many moons ago in Hawaii, and I hope to paddle out again in the future gliding atop the water in concert with the motion of the wave.