Hello from Austin, Texas after a flight to Little Rock, an 11-hour U-Haul trip down here to bring my 95-year old preacher daddy to his new forever home with my brother, Scott and his wife, Annette.
Last night, we had our Christmas with the whole extended family of kids, grandkids, great grandkids, cousins, nieces, nephews, wives, husbands, partners and my dad, who had never met many of them before.
The night was filled with stockings, ripped-open presents, Christmas lights on everything -- and running in the yard, swinging on swings and throwing glowing balls and screaming. And watching dad buried in presents and children. It was magical.
As for dad, he talks a lot! He never used to say a word. Mom did all the talking. Kinda like with me and Jim.
On Sunday, he recounted growing up very poor in the hills of Arkansas during the Depression, insisting that our mother, his wife, made possum and sweet potato pie out of the possums he used to catch as a child, selling the hides to the town’s grocer for money to go to the movies.
"Dad, you weren't married to our mom when you were five." He'll grin and say something snarky back at us. It's sad to see him diminished, because we look so similar but he stays ornery with a sense of humor.
He married my mom after his tour of duty in the Navy during the Korean War. He still has a small silk cloth he brought back for her.
Annette decorated his room just like it was before. I wrote about that in a song called "My Daddy's Room."
A rural Arkansas Missionary Baptist preacher, he moved us to Southern California when I was five, which is where I mostly grew up.
Then came the 60s, just as the flower power movement was taking hold, my musical life was filled with old timey Baptist hymns and Southern California pop like The Mamas and the Papas, Buffalo Springfield, plus The Byrds, The Monkees and The Beatles.
It was during my ninth grade that I inadvertently looked too -- longingly? -- at some boy in the gym -- and suddenly I was targeted by some tough kids. I never told anyone. To tell would be to tell why.
In the nick of time, my dad left the church he built -- yes, the preacher and the nurse from the song from The Last Session -- and moved us back to Monroe, Louisiana. I had a chance to start over! Clean slate! Unfortunately, I knew they could see it in my face -- and this school was big and scary. And JUST as they were about to figure me out, we moved again.
By the time this twice-burned adolescent landed in Buna, Texas I was solidly undercover and in denial, a hippie in my heart, listening to Credence Clearwater, an Unfortunate Son and terrified of Vietnam while playing the piano in my daddy's church and hanging out at the small hospital where my mother was a nurse. Went to a Baptist College, toured Texas in a Baptist rock and roll band.
My secret, so terrifying, I was now in my early 20s, was burning a hole in my heart. I had to leave. I had to get out. I quit the band and ran off to Dallas with some Iranian engineering students I met while working at a local Mexican restaurant.
I "disappeared" off the face of the earth — something impossible to do in this world of social media and search engines. (My brothers deeply resented me for doing, I later found out, but all I could think of was I had to get away. From everyone. Start new. Yesterday, David said during those years of my self-exile, he thought I was probably dead. Then suddenly, I’d call home announcing I was in Bermuda, New York or California or wherever.)
This also broke my dad's heart. But to be reconnected with him now, Jim's and my pic on his wall. With my brothers now. With family I thought I'd never interact with. It's overwhelming.
But, even as I walked away, he taught me.
When I, the front desk volunteer, in Los Angeles, was handed the task of reconstructing the National Academy of Songwriters after it went broke and the paid staff was let go. Recruiting volunteers, working 16 hours a day, I applied every lesson watching my dad build tiny church congregations up from nothing. Within a year, we were out of debt with a thriving membership and an office teeming with eager songwriters, pitching in and looking for a break.
After I nearly died from HIV and suddenly had my own career in the theater thanks to a certain Jim Brochu, I learned early how to utilize the Internet to spread the “gospel” of The Last Session, creating new families with each new cast.
And now, looking ahead, my friends and I have fashioned a new Bonus Round Band musical family. We're creating a community around the Imagine mosaic singing Beatles songs at Strawberry Fields with South African musician and great friend Gavin Gold, with vocalist and best pal, Blake Zolfo from Indiana, new pal Charlie Viehls on violin, vocalist Carl Draper and Jake Adams on bass from Rebel Nerds.
We can’t wait until March 7th for our first official headlining concert in New York at the legendary Don’t Tell Mama!! The line is gonna be out the door! I know you've already made your reservations.
SEASONS GREETINGS
I love that Hanukkah and Christmas coincide this year.
When I left my Baptist bubble and moved to Dallas, during my "exile," it was the "big city" Jewish people I met who accepted and loved me, made me feel "normal" — and who helped open my eyes to a different world of culture and compassion, where I didn't have to live in fear to be among humans. While Jerry Falwell was on the TV telling the world we were the worst humans on earth, I was among brilliant, educated and informed minds who were praising my talents and making me feel loved and accepted.
Hanukkah is a holiday to honor freedom from oppression and hope. It's a holiday that Jesus celebrated in the Book of John.
Is it a coincidence that the songs from my "inspirational" catalog work whether I sing them in a temple, a church or on a stage?
On this Christmas and Hanukkah Eve, hope is exactly what I feel. Even at 71, I can look forward and see momentous new opportunities to create something wonderful. And I thank you for being a part of it.
Thank you.
Steve
[This is the hand-crafted, no-AI, non-bot newsletter of Steve Schalchlin. If you wish to be removed from the list, send me an email. If someone sent you this and you want to be added, write me at steveshack@gmail.com]
--
Steve Schalchlin
Living in the Bonus Round
Tickets to Don't Tell Mama, March 7 at 7. https://shows.donttellmamanyc.com/8788-steve-schachlin-friends-3-7-25
Spotify Links
2024 Songs https://tinyurl.com/3su9t85m
Love Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevelovesongs
Personal Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevepersonal
Comic/Humor Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevehumor
Inspirational Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/steveinspire
Meditation Music by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevemeditate
Political Songs by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/stevepolitics
Rebel Nerd Songs - lyrics by Steve Schalchlin https://tinyurl.com/steverebelnerds
No comments:
Post a Comment