Free Frenzy

The line extended down the hall and was growing quickly with many people holding a ticket to receive their free item. There was an animated conversational energy resulting from the recent experience and the anticipation of the upcoming reward combined together with a tinge of anxiety that there could be a limited supply of the gift. Heads far back down the line would rise up and lean forward or move side to side, craning to see how the line was doing, hoping to catch a glimpse of the arrival of more gifts. Foremost in everyone's mind, "I can't wait to receive something for nothing." Soon the fear was alleviated for down the other end of the hall, a worker in uniform came hurrying with a large box full of the free things for the well-deserving lot. A large sigh of relief and pleasure emitted from the growing line of people at the sight of the box filled with gifts for all with a ticket. It was a great moment.

I brought my family to the Gaylord Texan motel in Grapevine for a brief respite from the normal activities of home. It is a magnificent motel replete with Christmas decorations, restaurants, coffee shops, entertainment, shopping, swimming, exercise, and many other sundry experiences for all ages. While a bit costly for our budget, it was nice to be pampered and to experience the pleasures and glitz of a nice hotel. As we drove into the garage (no, we did not pay extra for valet parking), I noticed many expensive and new automobiles. Checking in, I looked around to see leather briefcases, $1000 suits, expensive dresses, polished pricey shoes, and sensed a typical confidence and air often found in people to whom money is not an object. People who do not necessarily worry from paycheck to paycheck and who do not hesitate to spend $30-$50 for a meal. I felt myself not fitting in with the crowd!

Included among the many great qualities in the Gaylord Texan is the ICE exhibit, a large frozen world of aesthetically pleasing, stunning ice sculptures and ice events for everyone. For a minimal cost of $20 per adult, which included warm coverings for the 9 degree climate, we were treated to an incredible and beautiful, artistic world of ice. Afterward, we were each given a small card to redeem for our free gift for visiting the ICE world. So, like the others, we stood in line, in a near frenzy to turn in our card and be handed our free gift. It reminded me of those times at a football game when our team would score, and we would jump to our feet desperate to catch the little white plastic football thrown to the crowd by the cheerleaders; we were willing to risk life and limb to get that little ball. And so we stood in line for the free gift, and it was great.

So great, that I noticed several people drop their's in the trash, and my gift is still sitting in our room unopened. I asked several people I did not know why they were excited about the gift. Some weren't sure, some said they liked this particular item, and one person was honest and said, "It is just fun to get something for free, no matter what it is."

Actually, I do like gingerbread cookies and this one is good. It is especially good that I received it for free. Now it is time to check out of our room and finish paying $225 for the room, $10 for parking, $20 each for the ICE, and $61 for our dinner last night. I am so glad to have the gingerbread cookie for free!

Short story--The White Horse

The magnificent white horse stood atop the hill, a hill normally filled with sunflowers, berries, grass, and pecan tree saplings looking forward to future growth, but which today was barren due to having been subjected to difficult wintry conditions, and thought about his role in the world. He had no name for none was needed, no family for all were his family, no past and no future; he represented the moment as well as a lifetime of accomplishments and contributions, and he rarely thought of himself but rather considered his purpose to be entirely selfless as he traveled quickly and magically across the country seeking an opportunity for yet another change.

His character and personality were warm without excess, charming yet distant, compassionate without being contrived, positive but not unrealistically polished, energetic but calm, confident without arrogance, and mostly containing leadership qualities born of natural gifts rather than prescribed expectations. He was the perfect horse, the every-horse that all aspired to be, the stylized manifestation of everything right and good in the horse kingdom, he with his tall, muscular frame, long torso, and aesthetically appealing visual sensations. His was a comfortable existence due to his natural charisma, appearance, and mostly his remarkable leadership abilities, for all the other horses would follow him, listen to him, and trust him explicitly. Since being a leader of horses had very few requirements, he could spend most of his day standing on the hill, looking over his herd, and basking in his world of horse glory.

Such a naturally gifted leader would usually fall into a pattern of vanity whose actions would be self-serving without the risk of any kind of negative appearance in any sense; a leader who would be lacking in depth, a leader with little true leadership actions, replaced by superficial arrogance, and rooted in gross insecurities. But for the white horse, such an inane, useless practice and lifestyle were not within his character. Instead, he found himself avoiding the typical pomp, imitation, and outward glow that usually accompany such natural qualities, and preferred introspection and perception of the world, with a startling radar for finding goodness in others. He could stand on his hill, look out on the world, and see within the inner soul of other beings, and not just the inner being but, in fact, was able to block out and mentally eradicate any sign of corruption that existed on the peripherals.

And it became inevitable that the white horse, with his unusual ability to perceive strong personal character, became somewhat anxious to act on his sensitivities and to create, not simply prevent or stop a particular action, but rather to form a world that enabled all good things to come to pass. His ability to see and to know only goodness led him to reject the possibility of anything else to participate in his world, his perfectly designed world of excellence and moral rectitude, a world with a compass that disallowed any ethos not directly beneficial.

The anxiety and purpose that began to infiltrate his every thought process resulted in a magical ability to see through a portal into the world with a perceptive clarity that could not hide the truth of the hearts of the animals thus presented. Within moments that felt like seconds but which time could not define, the magnificent white horse landed in the midst of a world of wild dogs busy planning their next foray into rabbit kingdom where they could wreak havoc and have dinner. While the great horse respected the natural ecosystem of the world in some ways, in other ways he wanted good to triumph over evil regardless of the inclination of the perpetrators. Wondering the best way to accomplish the most good, and trying to decide whether to destroy the wild dogs, or to lift the rabbits out of danger, he elected instead to change the hearts of the dogs and create a small but Utopian world of mutual cooperation between the entities involved.

As the dogs viciously attacked the rabbit kingdom and the horrific assault began, our white horse brought the dogs to a standstill with a strong command and maybe a life-altering emotional education that could not be seen but was felt by every dog. So the dogs abruptly changed their purpose and elected to work with the rabbits rather than eat them. It was a strange occurrence and one that dissolved the hate and emphasized the love and was not necessarily a technique the horse used in all situations, but in this particular case, it was effective, and caused the result intended.

Our magnificent white horse left the world, went through the portal, and returned to his post to give more thought to how to use his powers of perception and change. He stood on the hill and felt both burdened and liberated by his character and his gifts, recognizing that with such abilities, came the need for more wisdom. For as the great book says, "To Whom Much is Given, Much is Required."

Christmas Blues

I have been feeling a little blue as this Christmas season progresses, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it is the stress of getting presents for all my family members. Or maybe it is the general busyness that accompanies the life of a musician at this time of year. Or perhaps the blues are a reaction to the constant red and green that seems to permeate the clothes, decorations, cards, ornaments, and even the cars. It seems that every time I look somewhere I see green and red. The other night, as I walked into a theater to experience an enjoyable evening of Christmas Gospel music, I felt accosted by the color red and the shining festive glitter that emanated from the people in the audience and extended to the poinsettias on the stage. It was just too much for my brain, and I felt that odd but recurring desire to escape into a world of books and thinking where colors do not seem to matter. Yet, at the same time, it was an overtly fun concert, well performed, thrilling, warm, and entertaining, the perfect event for this time of year.

So why am I a little down? Is it due to some kind of insecurity on my part? Maybe it is the fear of tomorrow that seeps into my thought process--fear of failure, fear of success, fear of Joel's future, and for that matter all my children's futures; not really fear, more like curiosity or anticipation maybe. Perhaps my blues are caused from the simple concern of getting everything done or leaving something out. What if I forget a friend or a family member or get the wrong gift or spend too much on one person and not enough on another? Or run out of money before buying presents for everyone. Or the fear that my truck with high mileage decides to hang it up. Or maybe I have the blues because I am worrying about little things and in the deep recesses of my mind, I realize how silly it is to be concerned over things that don't really matter.

Or maybe it is the sense that we are somehow missing the boat in all this Christmas stuff. While it is a little cliched to attack the glitz and glitter and excessive materialism of this time of year, it is difficult not to do so, for in truth, Christmas should be about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ and honoring the life of the greatest man to ever walk the earth, a man born of a virgin, a man who spent 30 years preparing for an incredible 3 year ministry, and a man who gave of himself so others may live. A man who changed the world and continues to have vast influence over our lives individually and collectively. The son of God, the Lord of my life.

There is nothing wrong with celebrating and I enjoy it as much as anyone. To celebrate can mean many things from loud music, to dancing, to general festivities, to food and candy, concerts, excitement, joy, affirmation, sharing, and most of all, openly expressing happiness in a multitude of ways. This year, however, I seem to have a monastic desire, almost a requirement, to celebrate quietly in a tranquil setting that seeks to calm the fears, quell the anxiety, envelope the inner senses, feed the soul, and reject the vain shallowness that pervades our cosmetic culture and desultory delusions. But, you know what? It is not that simple, for I really do not want to escape that which is the core of my world. My computer, my cell phone, my family, my music, my things, my talents, my friends. All shape me into who I am, for I like my shallow life, and, conversely, I like my profound life. I like the journey of existence that takes me from materialism to spiritualism, from the concrete to the abstract, the known and obvious to the unknown and subtle. All are important, and all provide sustenance for our Christmas experience. Ironically, being selfish can provide the means to becoming selfless, which ultimately could be what Christmas is all about.

So I conclude this odd essay ambiguously by encouraging our holiday time to be an acceptance of festivities, the color red, expressive joy, excessive spending, sharing, wrapping, shopping, dancing (figuratively of course since dancing is not a personal gift) and singing. But, no doubt, I also will find the time to meditate, to supplicate, to pray in abject humility, and to dedicate myself to inner peace and soul serenity, free of the cacophonous discord that seems to balance precariously on the precipice of an emotional abyss, that either sends a person on a free fall with no end, or supplies the foundational fortitude necessary for success at any time of the year.

Christmas--buy your presents, receive your gifts, celebrate loudly and have fun, but do not forget to take a moment or two for reflection of the depth of Christ, His life, His sacrifice, His teachings, and His purpose. Coincidentally, as I write this entry, I feel lifted out of the blues and into the reds! Time to be happy.

Then and Now--1970 and 2007

The crowd roared as I was fouled again and stepped up to the line for my 12th free throw attempt of the game. Except for the first attempt, I had not missed and was about to hit my 11th and 12th in a row, much to the chagrin of the other team and to the delight of my many fans cheering loudly for my success. I was a good player and found success at the free throw line. I went home after the game feeling refreshed and happy, and awoke the next day anxiously awaiting recess and an after school practice game.

Rarely are fouls called and there is no free throw shooting. Most of the playing is geared toward managing to stay on your feet from the body smashes as you make a poor attempt to drive toward the goal, or to prevent the other guy from scoring. It is brutal under the boards and not for the faint of heart (although fainting does seem like a viable option at times!). I go home totally exhausted, and the next day brings with it aches and soreness in virtually every muscle and joint identifiable, and some that did not previously exist.

The constant affirmation built confidence, and I felt myself bursting with pride with the high fives and the encouragement from the coach and the other players. Mistakes were overlooked and the slightest good was elevated to heroic status. Even the other team members would shake your hand at the end of the game. How you played the game was more important than the final result. Your effort was rewarded with "good hustle" or "way to go."

There is no affirmation, only criticism. The slightest moment of pride is quickly and aggressively destroyed by college students intent on making the old men look bad. Only a final victory is respected and nobody cares how you just played. The goal is to win. Granted, the college students have a different purpose from the college professors whose primary desire is to have fun and get some exercise. Still, testosterone pressure inevitably sets in and winning becomes the secret desire in the end. Your effort only means something to you, nobody else cares.

If you get hurt, there is someone near to help you, a coach, mom and dad, another parent, a teammate, or a friend. There seems to be an unlimited supply of bandaids, hugs, ice, and TLC for every challenge encountered. Of course, we all had knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist bands which not only protected our bodies but were quite fashionable and necessary for personal success. Our clothes were clean, shiny, and our shoes were all white.

You are not permitted to get hurt or to show pain. If you fall, get up. Nobody will help you. If you can't play anymore, get off the court, someone wants your spot. Stop sniveling and play. Wear what you want to wear, but no pads allowed. Fashion means nothing. Of course, in my case, I wear an old, faded Dennis Rodman jersy. It is to send a message that I am a rebounder, unfortunately not a good one, unlike the real Rodman. No, before you ask, I am not covered in tattoos, nor am I interested in riding a motorcycle wearing nothing but my birthday suit.

We extolled the virtues of Jerry West, Pete Maravich, Wilt Chamberlain, Lew Alcindor (soon to become Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and Oscar Robertson. Of course, being from El Paso, the name Nate Archibald was on every tongue, and the Harlem Globetrotters were without question the greatest players on the planet. We argued in practice and didn't always like each other, but Dad was always around to offer some valued wisdom after practice, wisdom and an arm around the shoulder fixed all problems.

The college professors are past the hero worship stage and are painfully, or maybe joyfully, aware that their career path is not basketball, but the college students seem to have a kind of latent inner desire to be picked up by the Spurs or the Mavericks. We occasionally argue, and nobody offers any wisdom, but when the game is over, our natural maturity takes over and we leave our problems on the court--okay, for the most part anyway.

After basketball season, we got out our baseball gloves, found the balls, asked Dad to play catch and started getting ready for baseball season. We bought some new cleats (before you could screw them on and off), we asked for a new glove and a new bat (before there were $200 bats), and began to extol the virtues of Johnny Bench, Willie Mays, Al Kaline, and Tom Seaver.

We play basketball all year when we can get away from the office. The college students play all year and hope no teachers show up. If teachers do come, the students give each other the glance that says, "Now is our chance, let's get the old guys." We, the teachers, show up anyway and play hard until we cannot move, then we return to our offices in misery. We remind ourselves that it is good for us to get some exercise, and we know we will return for more punishment. In truth, I am a less than average player and rarely score. I give up points, lose the ball, get confused, worn out, and having little to no ability, nobody wastes the effort to cover me. Yet, I love the game and enjoy the opportunity. It would be nice to be 10 years old again, but 47 isn't too bad either!

Typical Conversation

Dad: Hey Jordan, Porgy and Bess will be at Fair Park in Dallas at the end of February. Do you want to go?
Jordan: Sounds good to me.
Joel: What?
Dad: Porgy and Bess will be at Fair Park in Dallas. Are you interested in going also?
Joel: Maybe. Will there be an orchestra?
Dad: Yes
Joel: Will it be big?
Dad: I think so.
Joel: Will there be flutes?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Clarinets?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Oboes?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Bassoons?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Saxophones?
Dad: Not sure, but I think so.
Joel: Drums?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Trumpets and Trombones?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: French Horns?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Tubas?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Violins and Violas and Cellos and the big, gigantic bass?
Dad: Yes, lots of instruments.
Joel: Will there be an organ?
Dad: I doubt it.
Joel: How come?
Dad: Usually there is not an organ in an orchestra playing for a show, but I am not sure about this one.
Joel: What about a piano?
Dad: Maybe so.
Joel: Oh, good.
(a moment of silence)
Joel: Will there be a tenor?
Dad: Yes, lots of singers.
Mom: Joel, it is an opera. Of course there will be tenors.
Joel: Lots of tenors?
Dad: Well, I think so.
Joel: How many tenors?
Dad: I don't know.
Joel: Probably, like about 6 or 8 or 10 tenors or 20 tenors.
Dad: Probably not that many.
Joel: A baritone?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: A soprano?
Dad: Yes. Probably a choir too.
Joel: A big choir with lots of people?
Dad: Maybe, but not too big since there is a stage.
Joel: How big is the choir?
Dad: Not sure, but it will be good.
Joel: How many are in the choir?
Dad: I really am not sure.
Joel: Who will be singing?
Dad: Not sure, but most of them will be of African-American descent like Gershwin intended.
(more silence)
Joel: How far away is it? Can we stay in a motel?
Dad: About 3 hours but we will probably not stay in a motel.
Joel: I like motels with pools. Indoor pools.
Dad: I know but they cost money and it will be enough just to pay for the show.
Joel: How much?
Dad: I am not sure yet.
Joel: About, like, $5.00?
Dad: More like $50 or $75 probably.
Joel: Oh. I have $50 but I want to buy a pin-stripe suit. Where will we eat?
Dad: Joel, I just don't know. It is not happening for several months and we don't usually plan our eating places that far in advance.
Joel: Can we eat Mexican food?
Dad: Maybe so.
Joel: With lots of chips and tacos and enchiladas and hot sauce?
Dad: Probably but let's don't think about that right now.
Joel: Okay. What time will we leave?
Dad: Maybe 3 or so.
Joel: What should I wear?
Dad: Well, I guess nice clothes but you don't need to worry about that right now.
Joel: Can I wear a tie?
Dad: Yes.
Joel: Should I wear a sweater or maybe a black shirt and tie?
Dad: Yes, but since it is a long time, let's don't talk about that.
(long silence)
Joel: Are there lots of songs?
Dad: Yes, like "Bess You Is My Woman Now" and "Summertime" and "I Got Plenty of Nothin"
Joel: Those are good songs.
Dad: Great songs.
Joel: Great songs. But I might not go.
Dad: (after thinking about that) Well, we'll talk more about it later.
Joel: But I might go.
Dad: Okay.
Joel: But I might stay home and eat Mexican food.
Dad: Maybe that is best.
Joel: But I want to see the orchestra.
Dad: Joel, let's talk more about this later. Right now it is time to eat.
Joel: Okay.

Thus is a typical conversation with our 18 year old autistic son, Joel!

Whirlwind of Wonder

It was a thrilling evening in all respects. Jacob and I jumped in the car on Wednesday afternoon and headed to the Metroplex for the Stevie Wonder concert. On the way, we stopped for a delicious dinner of shrimp and steak, followed by a few minutes at a men's clothing store, and finally made our way to the theater for the concert. We hurried to our seats to await the entrance of the immensely talented musician, Stevie Wonder. When he came on stage, rather he was led onto the stage due to being blind since birth, I felt myself in awe at a 57 year old man whose career has spanned decades and generations. Beginning as a youth in 1963, with his first hit, Fingertips (Pt. 2), and having his first greatest hits album in 1967 at the age of 17, Stevie has had an enviable career due to several characteristics not found in many pop music artists.

One of the most striking elements of Stevie's music, and meets my own criterion for musical excellence, is his harmonic invention. His music, like most pop music, emphasizes the I, IV, and V chords, but unlike other popular music, he feels free to alter that system at will by adding to the chords, changing their texture, and moving freely away from the expected progression by shifting to exotic scales, modal inflection, and diminished passing chords. In other words, his music stays alive and fresh due to his harmonic creativity, balance of chords, and musical perspicacity.

Another trait of Stevie's music is melodic unpredictability and wide tessitura of vocal range. His use of melismas and ability to cover a wide range in a short time make his music difficult to perform even for the most advanced singer. Large leaps, falsetto interjections, and extended vowel sounds are juxtaposed with quick and complex articulations of words and sounds sometimes requiring a delivery that seems almost impossible. In addition, Stevie will often ornament his melodies with arpeggios, appogiaturas, escape tones, and grace notes that add great depth to the music but once again demand great flexibility from the singer.

His musical skills include high level harmonica playing with a unique and individual style, piano and keyboard playing again at a high level, syncopated jazz/rock rhythms, and an incorporation of electronic sounds including a synthesizer and a voice box. Stevie's odd blend of rock and jazz including blues, ragtime, folk, and ethnic music has allowed his music to transcend cultural implications and move through and beyond the dated sounds of each generation. During the 1960s, his sound was distinctly representative of the time; during the 1970s, again his music was characteristic of the time; on into the 80s, 90s, and finally the 21st century, Stevie Wonder continues to alter his approach to music giving him a sense of timelessness and appropriateness for all ages.

Unlike many popular musicians who rely on someone else to write their music, Stevie has written and performed most but not all of his most well-known works, and he continues to generate original compositions at a prolific rate. Comfortable in a large band setting or alone at the piano, Stevie Wonder seems adept at an incredible variety of styles and genres. This particular concert demonstrated a remarkable blend of old and new, fast and slow, complex and simple but all done tastefully, artistically, and mostly musically. The evening progressed quickly and I did not want it to end. Songs like Sir Duke, You and I, Ribbon in the Sky, Blowin' in the Wind, My Cherie Amour, You Are the Sunshine of My Life, Superstition, I Wish, Livin' for the City, Signed Sealed Delivered, As, and many others thrilled the audience of over 5,000 of all ages. While I enjoyed every minute of the experience of seeing and hearing Stevie Wonder, there is no doubt that the concert was topped by the opportunity to spend time with my oldest son Jacob who enjoyed it as much as I did.

Musicals

Like many people I know, I love musicals. Yes, it is true that in many ways they are unrealistic. People on dates do not break into song accompanied by a full orchestra, and I have yet to be in a library where dancing occurred on the tables, or seen gangsters doing ballet on the streets, or witnessed a forgotten world that only shows itself once a day every hundred years, or experienced a group of people floating up from unbridled laughter and happiness. And yet, while none of these events are a normal part of everyday life, at the same time, a musical can lift us beyond the drudgery, the mundane, the inane, and the malicious malapropisms that seem to occupy most of our attention.

A good musical reaches into our emotional wing, our sensitivities, our heart and soul and takes us into a new territory we often cannot seem to find on a daily basis. In school we emphasize the attainment of cognitive facts, application of logic, intellectual development, passing standardized exams, scientific data, knowledge, truth, awareness, mechanics, reasoning, understanding, and comprehension. All these things are important and without them, we would not have the great musicals that we can all enjoy. Our enjoyment is dependent on the skill and knowledge of someone else who wrote the story, acted the part, wrote the music, created the film, produced the work, designed the stage, dealt with the lighting, sound, and the endless vicissitudes of events that go into making a musical.

But in the end, we can simply bask in the pleasure of all this work and sit back and enjoy a musical in all its magnificence and glory. Although I could change my mind at some point, I believe that West Side Story is the greatest musical ever made. I realize this kind of statement is bold and arguable but I base this on several factors including story, design, musical quality, juxtaposition of elements, emotional content, and depth of presentation. Yet, each musical seems to reach a different emotion. When I am looking for artistic expression and gut-wrenching emotion, West Side Story meets that musical and aesthetic need.

Last night, however, we watched The Music Man. A delightful musical about a con artist who sets out to "sell" a town on the idea of a boys band. The budding romance of the music man and the librarian, the creation of a town barbershop quartet, the sarcastically charming practices of the ladies club, the blossoming of a little boys' verbal abililties, and mostly, the transformation of the salesman, come together with engaging melodious music that although not overly profound, makes up for in musical wit and memorable lines. My own favorite song is "Marian the Librarian," although "Till There Was You" certainly has some fascinating chromatic alteration and difficult melodic leaps. It is a great musical and worth seeing over and over. Robert Preston does a great job of "snowing" the town and then getting "caught" himself.

My personal list of other favorites is almost too long to mention but here are a few: Oliver, Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, My Fair Lady, Sound of Music, Mary Poppins, Singing in the Rain, Brigadoon, South Pacific, Oklahoma, Cinderella, Showboat, Fiddler on the Roof, On the Town, Wizard of Oz, Into the Woods, An American in Paris, and many others. Anytime you need something to see on a Friday night, check out a musical. You won't be disappointed.