It has the smell of an old library catalogue. Red velvet interior case with push button metal clasps, the accordion case is held together with one inch straps of duct tape along the side.
Like large stitches, the taped straps have given a second and third life to the accordion case skin. The box still stands confident despite the blows. Like a boxer still standing in the ring, the bruises are more like tattooed trinkets.
Like the well-worn accordion box, its owner must have been either poor, stubborn, very sentimental or simply just an optimist. Maybe he didn't care so much about how things looked, but that it was functional. Maybe he liked the color of the tape over time. Maybe it was more about getting to the gig, rather than the way you looked once you arrived there. Maybe, he liked the stripes, just fine.
An hour later, finally home, my youngest son, who my friend calls "Screwdriver," is unwrapping the accordion like it's Christmas day.
Though the instrument was nearly larger than him, he plays for the entire afternoon.
That old box my friend was lugging out of his closet to gain some "space," gained a space in our lives.
I couldn't help but to consider the places the according was lugged. And, the places it was dropped down, the muggy concert halls, and old German town side roads. And, of course, the faces in the audience, and the weight it would have carried and the loads it would have lifted.
And, I consider loads it lifted in my own child's story. My son, a little on the "spectrum," doesn't care about a lot of things. But, to see the light in his eyes with this old bear in his lap, the pages turned were priceless.
Outside of its own closet box, it was living again as a central character- -the story of its previous owner, a tenacious musician with a love of music.
Like a child's tale when the toy truly comes to life, the instrument came to life in my child's arms - -duct tape tenacity and all.
My friend, 76 or so, says to my sons "I am making room. This was my father's accordion, take it, play with it, keep or bring it back." He lugs out this heavy box from the inside of his very small closet full of music and costume wigs. I think about how this thing was carried with anticipation from gig to gig.
The box, with its smells and grit, reminds me of many great stories untold. And secrets, stage grit, success and failure.
And, I can't help but to think about the character carrying the box. I wonder what he was like. Seeing this box sitting next to my piano and in my living room, gives me a chance for a short interview.
And, I can't help but to think about the character carrying the box. I wonder what he was like. Seeing this box sitting next to my piano and in my living room, gives me a chance for a short interview.
The box, to me, is the smell of stubborn tenacity personified. And, I just love that.
My friend has his own story of stubborn tenacity. Perhaps that's why he inspires me. He says he will continue to play his own way. He talks about his latest gigs. And, he shows me the one-letter cheat sheet on the back of the guitar, and he says, "there wasn't a dry eye in that place." And, I believe it.
Though the instrument was nearly larger than him, he plays for the entire afternoon.
That old box my friend was lugging out of his closet to gain some "space," gained a space in our lives.
I couldn't help but to consider the places the according was lugged. And, the places it was dropped down, the muggy concert halls, and old German town side roads. And, of course, the faces in the audience, and the weight it would have carried and the loads it would have lifted.
And, I consider loads it lifted in my own child's story. My son, a little on the "spectrum," doesn't care about a lot of things. But, to see the light in his eyes with this old bear in his lap, the pages turned were priceless.
Outside of its own closet box, it was living again as a central character- -the story of its previous owner, a tenacious musician with a love of music.
Like a child's tale when the toy truly comes to life, the instrument came to life in my child's arms - -duct tape tenacity and all.
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