父亲的音乐

Celia+等

I remember the day Dad first lugged the heavy accordion up our front stoop, taxing his small frame. He gathered my mother and me in the living room and opened the case. “Here it is,” he said. “Once you learn to play, itll stay with you for life.” Then one evening he announced that I would start lessons the following week. Spending $300 for an accordion and $5 per lesson was out of character for my father. Still, I wasnt willing to.

I found a case in a closet. Opening it, I saw a polished glow of beautiful violin. “Its your fathers,” Mom said. “His parents bought it for him. I guess he got too busy to ever learn to play.”

Shortly after, my lessons began with Mr. Zelli. On my first day, with straps straining my shoulders, I felt clumsy in every way. I was ordered to practice half an hour every day, and every day I tried to get out of it. Gradually, to my surprise, I was able to string notes together and play simple songs. Often after supper, as my father sat in his easy chair, he would request a tune or two.

Weeks later, I would have to play a solo on a local movie theaters stage. I wanted to skip the whole thing. Emotions boiled over in the car one Sunday afternoon. “I dont want to play a solo,” I said. “You have to,” replied my father. “Why?” I shouted. “Because you didnt get to play your violin when you were a kid? Why should I have to play this stupid instrument when you never had to play yours?” Dad pulled the car over and pointed at me, “Because you can bring people joy. You can touch their hearts. Thats a gift I wont let you throw away.” He added softly, “Someday youll have the chance I never had — youll play beautiful music for your family. And youll understand why youve worked so hard.” I was speechless. I had rarely heard Dad speak with such feeling about anything. From then on, I practiced without my parents making me.

The evening of the concert Mom wore glittery earrings and more makeup than I could remember. Dad got out of work early, put on a suit and tie. I got the unspoken message that playing this song was a dream that come true for them.

At the theater nervousness overtook me as I realized how much I wanted to make my parents proud. Finally, it was my turn. I walked to the lone chair on the stage and performed “Are You Lonesome Tonight”. The applause spilled out when I stopped, with a few hands still clapping after others had stopped. After the concert Mom and Dad came backstage. The way they walked — heads high, faces flushed, I knew they were pleased. My mother gave me a big hug. Dad slipped an arm around me and held me close. “You were just great,” he said. Then he shook my hand and was slow to let it go.endprint

As the years went by, the accordion drifted to the background of my life. When I went to college, the accordion stayed behind in the hall closet next to my fathers violin. A year after my graduation, my parents moved to a house in a nearby town. On moving day, I brought the accordion to my own home and put it in the attic. There it remained, a dusty memory, until one afternoon several years later when my two children discovered it by accident.

When I opened the case, they laughed and said, “Play it, play it.” Reluctantly, I strapped on the accordion and played some simple songs. I was surprised my skills hadnt rusted away. Soon the kids were dancing in circles and giggling. Even my wife, Terri, was laughing and clapping to the beat. I was amazed at their unbridled glee.

My fathers words came back to me， “Someday youll have the chance I never had, then youll understand.” I finally knew what it meant to work hard and sacrifice for others. I thanked my father for the legacy which took almost 30 years to discover.

Dad never learned to coax sweet sounds from his violin. Yet he was wrong to think he would never play for his family. On that wonderful evening, as my wife and children laughed and danced, they heard my accordion. But it was my fathers music.endprint