Music has been around for a very long time right? It has been dated so far back as to tug at the skirts of men and women since the beginning of human culture. Instruments that resembled flutes have been dated as far back as 67,000 years ago, but hey who really knows, the debate is still up in the air. Music has inspired, comforted each and everyone of us as she has always proven worthy enough to speak the right words…at the right moment. She is at best, that friend, that doesn’t care if you cry too much…or not enough. She sings to you always and knows your deepest thoughts regardless what you are currently going through or if your pain is so dark and sick that you can’t possibly imagine telling a human soul…there is always that song that reaches out and grabs you by the collar and says, “Hey you, listen up…” She is universal and has the ability to pass through every border without a visa or green card, no questions asked.
Most of my memories…fears or traumas may be repressed…frustrated…but there are many good ones that I do remember…they have always been filled with some sort of beat, lyric, song or band playing in the background. I am a child from neither here nor there when it comes to my taste in music…I truly am across the board with no adversity towards loving all different types of cultural music, they all call out to me, and they are all beautiful to me, like an umbrella of music that keeps me calm and collected while the rainstorm passes me by.
Being born in the capital of Guatemala in Central America gave me the love of “Musica Tropical,” my land of birth had a variety of music from “cumbias” to “salsas” that my mother would play incessantly, while I would watch her dance the night away and those happy moments encouraged me to stay in touch with my roots always. I remember being this tiny little thing that could sing word for word to the likes of passionate singers like Amanda Miguel, Pimpinela, or Rocio Durcal (Checked of my bucket list before she passed) because they were artists that would reach out and mesmerize me in my native tongue. I could feel the pain, the love, the fear that these women held onto and it was beautiful. When I grew older, I held on to my curious hunger of asking, “why” or “who says” and I immediately was moved by an artist from Guatemala named Ricardo Arjona. He was not just a singer, but a writer, a poet, the passion that stirred in me the need to continue to write and not believe the things just because my society, my culture, my mother or my paternal sperm donor told me to after my step-father passed. I was not the only one questioning why things were the way they were… and again I was not alone anymore. I have yet to see him in concert as the two times that my husband has tried to surprise me with tickets…well we have been in the lobbies of hospitals waiting for news regarding the surgeries that have helped to save my son’s life…no regrets here, but the day will come and I will check him off my bucket list too. There is something about Spanish music that moves me, but when my fourteen year old son was diagnosed with Autism at two, I completely stopped speaking or listening to Spanish anything because the psych stated he would be completely nonverbal, it was a choice that I made as a mother, it was a choice that myself, and my children would be chastised by our brown community to this very day by family,friends, even people that we had just met, and who would never understand why..because it is human nature to talk, tease, and point at those that are different…and easy to pass judgment when you are not the one that has to deal with those afflicted on a twenty-four hour basis. Oh and by the way, he can now tolerate Spanish music without having a colossal meltdown, but should he have to if he does not want to? My intentions were to focus on one language. Did it work? We will never know as each child is different, but I do know that he is not institutionalized…he can talk…in ENGLISH…he is quite functional…and he is amazing just the way he is without knowing Spanish and without all the harsh judgement of the stereotypes from those that should love him unconditionally because yes he is brown…but most of all…he is human…
Being raised in the United States as early as the age of three, having a white step-father who took me patiently by the hand to teach me the ropes by the age of five, and who introduced me to a whole other world of music was mind blowing. I was introduced to the King, Elvis Presley and remember how calming it was to hear my “daddy” sing away “Love me tender…Love me sweet…never let me go…,” the man had talent, and it would soothe this scared little girl that seemed all too lost in this great, big world. This would be the same reason that I fell head over heels for my husband. He sang me a song and that was that because he has a voice that sends me to the moon and back. If he only knew how special that is. My father shared with me many others like Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, Rod Stewart, The Doors, and finally gave in and allowed me to buy my first Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Metallica, and Red Hot Chili Peppers albums. I contemplate the childlike days of wanting to dance like the captivating Tina Turner and to this day whenever I hear her music, my shoulders and legs start dancing in a failed attempt to be like the QUEEN herself. He also showed me what was up with the world of country from Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers, to Harry Chapin’s Cats in the Cradle…the list can go on and on. The music blaring in the background was the only way that I would not fixate only on the sounds that overstimulated me on a daily basis; like the noise of someone reaching into a bag of chips or the crickets chirping away outside…..ugggghhhh…that would drive me insane and make me cry myself to sleep even as a teenager, but I was able to cope through music.
A GODDESS of music in her own rite and an all time favorite Tori Amos, brought to me by that one special friend who later became an amazing teacher…Yes, I have checked her off my bucket list because some of us need the funk and quirks of a musical genius to stay sane from the crazy shit in her life. She was my therapist and the only doctor in the world that could fully understand me. My three children would find the same passion for the music that I loved, they would find passion for the new and more modern music that would call out to them for many of the same reasons, as well as their own.
We have encouraged our children to find the music from within. Both boys have taken up instruments and we are currently trying to convince my little “Chica” to take up the violin again. Like I said before, “one moment at a time.” One of our sons plays the electric guitar and the other, the drums. They have a natural love for it, we have had the luck of finding a music school that caters to their needs, and where they feel comfortable. We had just moved to the desert and my kids didn’t know anyone, only a few family members. They struggled due to this new change. Their new schooling program sent kids for music instruction and on the first day of my 15 year old son’s class he was like… “Nope, I’m not doing it.” He struggles with anxiety and anything that changes on a day to day basis. He refused to get out of the car. I sat waiting, meditating, asking for a sign, for a notion that the choices that I had made were not going to bite me back in the end as if I had already known what was coming in the later future. Out we finally went and his instructor walks out of his room with a welcoming smile, wearing a Batman Tee, and opens the door to walls covered in comics. Needless to say, my son gets really bummed if he misses a class now. The other instructor who is wise beyond his years was compassionate enough to read a book about teaching children with Autism, and that right there just got me you know where. They have come home rocking out to Nirvana, Metallica, 30 Seconds to Mars, Guns n Roses, and many others. Music has been a tool for socializing, to soothe, and to just absorb the wonderful melodies coming out of whatever device we use that day from our iPod, to the recently acquired turntable that has caught the eye of my “Chica.” She made me run out that exact moment to buy her, her first ever Katy Perry Vinyl Record after she heard my Depeche Mode spinning. She is also a huge Elvis Presley (wanted to dress like him for Halloween) and Tori Amos fan, if you already haven’t figured it out, so when you are having a rough day, just throw on some tunes and sing all your worries away. Yes, we are music lovers, always will be, and proud of it!
Life, one moment at a time... 