Until last month, I hadn’t talked to my dad in over ten years. The death of my uncle has brought my dad and I (as well as other relatives) together, and the years have melted away like we’d all traveled through a time warp.
Yesterday, I went to my dad’s shop (he fixes cars), and he gave me his guitar and amp. My dad’s shop is notorious in our family. In fact, that’s where my uncle died sleeping in his car. Needles to say, it’s a long story, and part of why I stayed away for years. As I sat there listening to my dad dish out life lessons, hundreds of flies buzzed around us, adding to the poignancy and comedy of the moment.
He kept the guitar inside a laundry basket, and it was surreal as he plugged it in and played a few licks, surrounded as we were by years of dirt, grime, and cobwebs. I realized that no matter what we’ve been through, no matter where we are, we can still play the music of our life.
I took the guitar home and cleaned it up. It’s my first electric after years of playing an acoustic. It’s really fun. I’m going to his shop on Sunday morning to clean it up. My cousins are going to stop by and help. It’s not so much a clean up as it is an extreme make-over.