Originally Posted By: Notes Norton
My father played violin, trumpet, ukulele, and later in life organ. I fondly remember my dad getting the uke out, opening song books and we children singing along with those old, corny songs


My best response to that is "Oh man, I only wish..."

My old school Slovenian father thought anything but polkas and waltzes was not music, and despite sending me to music lessons at age 5 and buying me a guitar for Christmas when I was 11, fought me tooth and nail when I wanted to make music my life's career path. He refused to accept that there are ways to make a living that did not require a time card and a lunch box. He constantly discouraged me, badgered me in fact, from trying to follow my dream. He died during his 73rd year, when I was 39, after telling me on his deathbed that I was an embarrassment to him, that he was disappointed in what I had become, and that he was ashamed to admit that I was his son.

That was the last thing he said to me. I have been carrying that around for 31 years now, and I think about that every day. It will never go away. That man that I revered, that man who shaped me and who by example instilled into me my strong work ethic, died disappointed in me.

I have to go now.