Of Music and Melodrama

My family is a musical family.  If we were Austrian, we could add "Von" before our last name and be famous.  But we're Scottish, which is another story in itself.  Mom has been playing piano since time began, and music is her gift.  Musicals on cassette tape like "Kids' Praise," "Antshillvania," "Nathaniel the Grublet," "The Music Machine," and "Sir Oliver's Song" were a major part of our lives.  If anyone who reads this can remember those, here's virtual high five.

Mom played the piano, and Daddy played the guitar.  Great singers such as Kenny Rogers, John Denver, Ann Murray, and Neil Diamond could not have rivaled the music that rang in our home.  Four-part harmonies led the religious charge, hymns being the weapon of choice.  "Grandma's Feather Bed" by John Denver was one of our favorites, though it was years before I understood what "took a whole bolt of cloth for to tick" meant.  And we were all in choirs and/or bands or orchestras, whether it was at church or at school.

We did not have a television until I was nearly ten, so we had to create our own entertainment (and I don't think we are any the worse for it; in fact, I think the lack of imagination and creativity these days is a sad loss to society).  Mom and Dad read aloud to us quite frequently.  The Chronicles of Narnia, the Little House series, Character Sketches, Uncle Remus stories (Disney version), and various Golden Books and Fairy Tales were the stuff of which daydreams were made and imaginations were strengthened.  Worlds were created, peopled, destroyed, and remembered.  By me, of course, since my sister claims she was just dragged along in my wake as I conquered Worlds beyond the realm of visibility, never forgetting that the unseen things are eternal.

Which necessarily brings us to the melodrama.  Our whole family is wont to be dramatic.  My sister may not have much of an imagination, but she's got the drama down pat.  And not just in real life.  From primary school on, plays were the thing.  To my knowledge, we didn't catch any consciences, but we entertained with "Kids' Praise" plays, Singing Christmas Trees, scenes from "White Christmas," and we cannot forget the family affair which was my final project in college: South Pacific.  I can say with reasonable certainty that without the participation of the whole family, South Pacific would have sunk.  My sister played Nellie and did a magnificent job.  My brother helped with the set construction, along with Daddy's mechanical expertise, and also stood in for an actor who had a death in the family.  Mom played the piano, which we had to rent, South Pacific not being considered High Art enough for the Music Department at my college, though it is a classic, having been around long enough for Daddy to have had a role in it when he was in high school.  So one might say South Pacific is a family tradition.  We don't drink, smoke, or live out songs we wrote (the only one of us who writes original songs is my brother; he writes Gregorian Chants, and I don't know if they qualify as songs), but drama is a tradition.  My brother kept up the tradition with a role in West Side Story when he was in college.

Now my children are keeping up the music and the melodrama traditions.  Living in our house is like living in an opera.  If my daughter isn't singing songs (the few lines she knows if she doesn't know the whole song), she's singing her daily activities.  If she's not doing that, she's talking to the friends that people her world.  My son sings when he's contented.  They both love the drama, though my daughter has chosen real life as her stage, not an actual stage.  The world absolutely comes to an end when anything goes wrong for her or her little brother does something to annoy her.  The wails, the crying, the running to her room and slamming the door are all acting techniques in her repertoire.  And woe betide you if you correct her!  For then follow the wails of "I just can't do it!"  My son has the woebegone, pathetic looks down pat; he even outdoes our Chihuahuas, who have until now been the experts.  He'll even try to manufacture tears when he wants his way or wants sympathy.  When my daughter is excited, she can't sit still and declares that she has butterflies in her stomach.

My world is far from boring, and I wouldn't have it any other way.  And if your life is anything like this, especially if you have kids, know that you are understood.