This ones For my brother Mike

April 15, 2007
1:14 AM

When I was a sophomore in high school, my oldest brother, Mike, started teaching me how to play the guitar. There was an end of the year celebration that was gonna have a talent show, and he wanted us to play in it. And so around November my brother bought me an advanced Christmas present, my very first guitar. I don’t think he would know how huge of an effect this would have on the entirety of my life, but my life would never be the same from that moment on. I remember as a little kid going to Mike’s high school masses and seeing his friends playing guitars for the mass, and I secretly dreamt of being like them. Being able to play the guitar and “be cool”. For some reason I equated these two things together, I guess I still do. When my brother started learning the guitar as he got older I wanted to learn. It always started off in some empty attempts of a chord here, or this part of the guitar is called this. But it never really progressed. I remember the very first chord I ever learned. I feel like it was the first time that my brother took my desire to learn the guitar seriously. We were in his apartment and he was teaching me how to play the “G” chord. At first every string brought on a worse sound than the one before it. But eventually I got one good strum. My brother said, “Let’s stop there, it’s always good to end on a good note”. I still remember that moment as it was yesterday. With the talent show approaching it would finally be my turn to learn to play the guitar. Of course after the talent show it didn’t stop. My brother had taught me all he knew, every chord and song that he knew and what ever other little things he might know, but I hungered for more. I remember during this same time I was trying to learn how to skateboard, you know ollies and kick flips and frontward upside down casper slide grinds, the kind of stuff you see on the Tony Hawk video games. This was something my little brother was trying to teach me, he was far better than me. Providentially, one afternoon we were skateboarding in the front of our house and a car ran over my skateboard, ending my pro skating career (that is until I got to college and became skateboard racer across campus ‘cause I woke up late and am late for class). From then on there was no question about what I would do with my time, instead of hanging out on the streets destroying public property with my skateboard, I would be inside playing guitar for hours upon end. And I loved every minute of it. It wasn’t a chore or a required hour of practice by my parents or anyone. It was me for me, discovering a passion, a fire that would only continue to grow within my heart.

Eight years later that fire has become uncontrollable and consumes everything that it sees with the sound of music. Well not literally, but it sounds really poetic to write it. I look back on my life and I find that I am ridiculously blessed to have been able to find this passion, and yet although it was something that begun when I was still a young, shy, lost sophomore in high school, it is not something that I have fully begun to realize until recently, and still I know that there is so much more to it.

After the talent show, as I began to learn more and more, another opportunity arose for me to find music in a whole new way. My brother having recently become the new Youth Minister at our Parish, was starting a Youth Choir. I of course wanted to join. We were asked to make our debut at the first mass of the newly ordained Deacon of our church, Deacon Ray. My brother thought it a good idea I learn to play the bass for the choir, and so I bought a bass and attempted to learn, being that its not too far removed from playing the guitar. It was an exciting time. Playing a new instrument and playing with other people. It was excellent and I was a part of something. And so through out our practices, along with playing the bass, I made my attempts at singing. Oh man, was that rough! It gave everyone a good laugh, and I wasn’t too shy about messing up, but I could not sing for the life of me. I just didn’t have it. I guess I was tone deaf or something, but what I heard in the song, and what came out of my mouth were two completely different things. But, my brother still gave me a chance. That first mass, he let me try to sing a part of one song, and boy did I bomb it! We all laughed and had a good time, but it would be the last time that I would sing for the choir. I never gave up though, I still haven’t, and I am grateful for that. I am grateful that even though I continued to fail at finding the right pitch, my brother didn’t give up on me. He of course didn’t let me sing in public, but he never stopped encouraging me to keep on trying. I will never forget when he told me that God gave me this voice, if it sounds terrible, sing louder and maybe God might feel sorry for me or become annoyed with how ugly it is and give me a better one. I think God must have heard me, because something happened. Maybe I was just passing through my pubescent years, whatever it was, it passed and I was left with something that’s not as harsh sounding on the ears, something people could tolerate, and I am grateful for that. Thanks God!

Starting in the youth choir would also be another door opening to a passion that my brother, Mike, would introduce me too. I loved playing the guitar; I had found my passion for music. And during this time I was also finding a new passion for God, a desire to discover her in a whole new way. Music would be that path. I discovered as St. Augustine so eloquently put it, that to sing is to praise God twice! (He actually says “to sing well” but I like to not mention the “well” part for all of us who fail to find the right pitch to songs often) Mike would introduce me to using music to communicate with God, and to be able to share God with others! I think that is by far one of the greatest gifts that my brother mike has ever given me.