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Sunday, August 11, 2013

When I Was A Child, I Spake As A Child, I Understood As A Child, I Thought As A Child: But When I Became A Man, I Put Away Childish Things



I was my sons' roadie on Saturday. I stood in the back with my lovely wife and watched.

Everyone approached us after doing the mental arithmetic that we didn't quite belong there, and said those boys must belong to you. Up to a point, they do. But they are beginning to belong to themselves, and are fixing to belong to the whole world as well. It breaks your heart in a wonderful way to picture your children grown up and elsewhere.

I do not get the urge to play music with my children. Then again, I do not get the urge to make music with anyone. I did it for a long time, and made some money, and had some laughs, but it's over for me. I had my turn on the line, and now it's time for other things. I am happy to see my children get their turn. I'm gratified to see them making the most of it.

I’ve an educated taste in whiskey and women and waistcoats and bill o’fares — though I’ve had few chances to exercise it lately.  I don't miss the roadhouse, on the stage or off it.  It was fun while it lasted but life is a career and one must move on, or life does, and passes you by. Music is a serious thing for many people, and deserving of respect, but for me it was a lark. The lark goes out of it if you hang on too long, on either side of the bar.

But I'll admit it; for a little while, it was glorious.

5 comments:

leelu said...

Maturity... what a concept.

Sam L. said...

The Past is gone, yet we remember and look back fondly, or try to forget; or say it's not important to remember most of it and pay it no never mind.

Sometimes there are nuggets to be mined, and we do.

Well, you do. And well you do them.

Everyman said...

I will say that you make the journey to, and maybe even down, the other side of the mountain just another part of the travelogue, and I thank you for that.

Anonymous said...

I echo every sentiment except for one thing: my hands have gotten so bad I can't even play any more at all. So glad that I did it while I could (glorious is the perfect word) and so glad that the loss of my hands didn't crush me 'cuz I had moved on to something else before that happened.
Sometimes I see my old dog dreaming of being a young dog again when he sleeps, and I know the feeling.
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil
D

Thud said...

Well said.