To The Young Professor Who Serenades the Block in the Summer Whether We Want It or Not

I’m grateful that you play acoustic guitar so that your music stays appropriately in the background of whatever we are doing: dinner, reading, catching up after a long day. I’m grateful that you actually play entire songs and not just the first third or just the chorus. A lot of porch and campfire musicians never commit to the whole song, and I always feel cheated. I’m also grateful that you’re not that bad a player or singer. You can carry a tune and I’d bet you would do ok at a local karaoke bar. You’d be the guy people think, “You know, he’s not too bad,” as they snack on pretzels with their beer.

I’m grateful that you know reasonable hours to play, which may come from playing to your young son and also not playing when you might wake him up. I’m grateful you live on adult time, which isn’t true for all adults. I’m grateful to your parents for the music they must have played for you as a child because these are not songs from your high school prom, that’s clear. I’m grateful that you know your limits and do not try to sing as if Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys will come walking down the block one day (as he might very well) and say, “Wait. What’s that? Is that the sound we’ve been missing in our next album?”

I played this ghost.

I was fearless like you once. For a brief time after the school play in which I was cast as the Ghost of Christmas Present in A Christmas Carol, I thought maybe I should go for a life in theater. The Ghost of Christmas Present is typically a very fat, jovial man with a lot of accoutrements like goblets full of wine and turkey legs. I was 5’5” and maybe 102 pounds. I had one, sometimes 2 friends. I never knew why Mrs. Hutchinson cast me and I didn’t want to ask.

I sang a song all about food and eating and indulgence and at the end, the audience clapped. It didn’t occur to me that they were parents and though the clap was sincere, it’s not really a measure of the quality of the performance. Maybe I’m good? I keep singing and practicing. I decide to master “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” by Neil Diamond and Barbara Streisand. I thought I was good enough to sing both parts.

One afternoon, I decided to take the alleyways to Skillern’s for some candy. I thought maybe there would be a talent agent out in the backyard. I seized the moment and sing loudly as I walk. The agent would hear me and think, “I must find that voice!” When I pass a kid riding his bike, I suddenly feel caught, absurd, humiliated. What was I thinking?

But you? You keep singing. You’re not trying to get on Broadway or even play at a local bar. You just like it and believe you’re halfway decent enough that you aren’t upsetting people. Your son sits with you all morning, playing with his trucks while you pick your way through a new song. He’s your biggest fan.