The story of music.

When I was young, my grandfather used to play nightly "concerts" for all of us when we'd go to visit him. He would carefully select pieces of classical music and play them. I remember thinking it was boring, but I wanted to humor him because I loved him so much. I can still so vividly see his face: head tilted up, eyes closed, is mouth displaying the emotions of the music, arms conducting the orchestra...

It has been a long time since he died. I still remember every detail of the moment I found out. I still remember his face as if it was yesterday that I last saw him. I remember his stories (killed a bear with his bare hands because it "threatened [his] girlfriend"). I remember his pears. I remember the death grip on the wrist, which he wouldn't let go of until you say "please". I remember the laughs.

Tonight I was listening to Opera music with my children. You see, one of my most favorite aspects of my mother (and her family) is that she taught me to love music. I'm not talking about the synthesized crap that is carelessly passed off as "music" today, I'm talking about classical music. The kind where a violin leaps in to your chest and tells you a story that words cannot describe. The kind where a piano can bring tears to your eyes, or a flute, or a cello, or a voice... A voice that is singing in a language that you don't understand, but yet the sound tells you all you need to know. THAT, my friends, is music.

We were listening to an Italian opera, and right as we crested the mountain, the music perfectly soured with the environment and you know what popped into my head? My grandpa. His face. His spirit. His presence. And before I knew it my arms were raised and I was conducting the CD. Before I knew it my eyes were filed with tears because I finally understood why he played those CD's. I finally understood the lesson he wanted to convey: Learn music. Understand music. Be moved by music. Recognize music. LOVE music. Let music tell you a story.

It amazes me how at least 15 years later, my soul remembers these things. Maybe it's because his spirit was in the car. To be honest, it felt like he was. It felt like he was there with me. I didn't want the moment to end. I was lost in the sound of the story. I was lost in the memory of him. I hope that with me limited knowledge of music, I can teach my children to love the sound of the story... even if it takes them 15 years to finally get it.