Tag: guitar

Along Came a Spider

October 26, 2024

Along Came a Spider…

I noticed the boy keenly observing me through a glass door as I walked to a friend’s house for dinner the other night. I smiled at him, and he darted inside. But after all the initial hellos among the adult guests, the little boy quickly approached me and stared at me. So I introduced myself, and he looked me up and down, and then we began an enchanting conversation that basically lasted a couple of hours!

He is 10 years old, loquacious, inquisitive, and ready to share what he knows. He sat down next to me and proceeded to tell me all about a racist bully he has to contend with in school (the boy, as he explained to me, is a mix of white and black, and that’s why he has light coffee-colored skin and there are very few blacks if any at his school. The bully is 9.).

He then moved on to talk about the video games he enjoys playing, the collection of Pokemon cards that one day will cost $500,000 on Ebay because they are collectors’ items, and the beauty of ghost crabs that only come out at night time to stare at the moon. “They are shy, you know”. He tried to play the ukulele that was on a chair, but with no success. “Hah, I’ve never tried to play the ukulele!”. I told him about my “charango”, an Argentine ukulele-sort of instrument made out of a real armadillo body. “Wow!” I promised him I would show it to him.

He then darted off somewhere and quickly returned with his second most prized trophy: a brown cap with a gold medal insignia that belonged to a member of the military, part of the uniform in World War 2. (I believe it is an USAAF officer’s visor crusher cap with a round insignia). He ruefully admitted it was not in such great shape, but it was ancient he said, so he loved it because he will be joining the Special Operations Command Forces. No ifs, or buts. He can’t wait.

He gave me a side glance and asked me if I liked Snoop Dogg, because he is his favorite rapper. I could genuinely answer yes, miracle of miracles! And he smiled. I told him I didn’t really know the songs, though. “Oh, yes”, he said. “ If you know of him you’ve heard his songs. I will play you some of them next time we see each other”. “It’s a deal”, I said. Dear God, I thought. What are the chances that I would know Snoop Dogg? But the boy was pleased.

He gave me a quizzical look and said, “You are very Christian, huh?” “Well”, I replied, “I do believe in Jesus and that there are good people and bad people who ought to know better. But I probably could be a better Christian”. “Oh! One of my Grandmothers who is not related by blood says she is very Christian but is mean to me, and says she doesn’t like me”. And barely pausing, he then mentioned the poisonous scorpion that he owns, but had to leave with a friend because, well, it’s poisonous and his Mother did not want it in the house. I mentioned the story of Coyotito, who is stung by a scorpion in Steinbeck’s The Pearl. Wide eyes stared at me.

Then, with the biggest smile, the boy said “Well, I want you to meet Curly”. “And who is Curly?” I asked. I thought of a labradoodle or poodle. “Oh, she is my best friend, a curly haired tarantula bigger than my hand. I can bring her over right now”. And with that, I snapped: “Oh, no, you won’t. I have a phobia about spiders. And I am not staring at a hairy thing before bed tonight!”. He burst into peals of laughter and then, calming down, he said he would bring me to his house the next day, during day time, to show me his most valuable possession, Curly, and that she is the sweetest, gentlest creature that ever walked the Earth.

Today, I heard a soft knock on the door, and I opened it surprised, because it was early evening and I was not expecting anyone. There was my new friend, holding a box with a couple of slices of pizza. His Mother was waiting in her car. He smiled and said he had thought of me while having dinner with his Mom and that he knew I would like pizza. “So here! Oh, and by the way, tomorrow I come to take you to meet Curly. You’ll love her!”.

The Crooked Fingers

September 27, 2024

They stopped the air conditioning.  The little hall went silent.  Except for my parents, siblings, and my High School dear friend, the audience was Japanese.  I was petrified.  My Japanese guitar teacher had insisted that, part of his teaching me meant that I had to perform in his annual repertoire of students.  I was his only “gaijin”, that is, the only foreigner.  

Mind you, he seemed so old!  He was probably in his 30’s, but I was a teenager, I was 16 years old.   He did not speak English nor Spanish nor French.  I knew enough Japanese to take a taxi or shop.  But we communicated on a weekly basis through our mutual understanding of clefs, crotchets and quavers.  Isn’t that a universal language?

He was so formal!  He always bowed when he came to my house – 9-11 Minami 3-chome, Ebisu, Shibuya-ku, Tokyo- impeccably removing his shoes and putting on the slippers.  I bowed back, but not quite well.   Under the severe thick black-rimmed glasses, he had a twinkle in his eye, a beautiful smile, and the most amazing fingers that plucked the guitar and made it weep. 

But I did not notice these things then.  I was too immature.  I was ambivalent about my lessons with him, and I knew I always disappointed him.  I never practiced enough.  Ie, ie ie.  No, no no.  Hai, hai, hai.  Yes, yes, yes.

Somehow, we understood each other.  He came dressed in a dark suit and a dark tie.  He seemed severe, but when he took that guitar and strummed it, all his Japanese formality of those days melted away.  He loved classical guitar and would get exasperated with me because he did not find in me the same enthusiasm.  Little did he know that I did have it, though it was a bit dormant.  I was too young then!

So the day arrived when I had to perform at the concert.  Invitations had been sent, beautifully calligraphed on thick rice paper.  バーバラ ディロン.  Barbara Dillon, in Katakana.

If memory serves me, I played 3 musical compositions.  Within the first couple of minutes of my taking the stage, the air conditioning was turned off because it made a purring sound.  For some reason, someone in that hall decided to give me total silence for the performance.  It then became quiet, like a tomb.  I had stage fright, my fingers were trembling, but I wanted to make my professor proud.  After all, I was, as the Argentines say, “sapo de otro pozo” (a toad from another well). 

In that deep silence, I took the plunge.  I still remember plucking those strings and how, soon enough, I fell into the right rhythm and cadence and mood.  The silence of the hall was deafening.  But, miracles of miracle, I never ever made a mistake!  At the end, the applause was overwhelming.  I looked up and saw my family and friend beaming.  And, standing in the back of the room was that gentleman and gentle professor with the biggest smile I had ever seen.

I studied classical guitar through college and my Father got me the Argentine equivalent of a Stradivarius.  He had high hopes.  I did not deliver.  Life interfered.

I have always returned to my guitar especially when I have needed succor and relief from sorrows.  Today, my fingers are no longer spry.  They are a little bit crooked and stiff with age.

Yet, I am soon getting back together again with my guitar and music scores of days gone by…and these crooked fingers will get the exercise that my soul has been longing for, finally!