I grew up reading everything I could put my hands on, and 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 I didn’t inherit his other talents. 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 broke. 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 telling me he was going to get around to it before he was too old. Dad wasn’t big about sharing his feelings except when my brother or I made him mad. Then he let us know how he felt — big time. But he surprised me one day when he said he’d always 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 it was all a dream, but we’ll never know.
Dad waited until he had a heart attack before he bought an old stand-up piano. 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 more than 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 because when it comes to how long we’ll be around, we’re not our own timekeepers.
Go ahead, play the piano and write your songs while the rhythm of life surges.
The music won’t wait.
(Vic DiGenti made his dreams come true when he became a published author. He’s the author of five published novels, including the recently released, Bring Down the Furies, a Quint Mitchell Mystery written under his pen name, Parker Francis. Visit him at www.parkerfrancis.com and www.windrusher.com.)