* * * * * * * * *
I was born in 1987 to a father who was a millionaire, a superhero and a total saint.
To me, anyway.
But to the rest of the world, he was a Jack of all trades but master of none, an underachiever, and a junkie. He worked at a pizza place and spent most of his money on feeding his worsening drug habit. My mother tells me stories about how when I was not yet two, my father's habit was so bad that he sold our Tv, silverware, and even my crib in exchange for cocaine. My dad didn't seem to care about much, but there was one thing that held precedence over all others in his life- music. Music was my father's god; his music collection was uncommonly vast and certainly more than twice as expensive as the engagement ring be bought my mother. When he needed to think, he sat on the right hand side of our black couch- the same black couch my mother has even now- and listened to jazz. When we were fussy, he sang songs that he wrote on the fly to cheer us up, to get us to fall asleep, to encourage us to bathe or brush our teeth. To my father, music was life. He was also an incredible singer, and he played several instruments. Although my father had many faults and we often stood as a family and watched his dreams crash and burn, he never gave up his dream of being a musician.
At the end of 1989 when I was just about three, my father lost his job at the pizza place and with very little options, decided to enlist in the military. What happened next may seem like the kind of thing that only happens in movies, but within months of his enlisting, he was completely sober and my parents, sister and I packed up and moved to Germany to start a new life. Some peoples' army dad's were front lineman, generals and doctors. Mine was part of the Army Band and Chorus, and I could not have been more proud. He traveled Europe, and finally got to live out his dream of being a singer- although it was for work, the position actually did grant him a bit of notariety, and I think for the first time in his life, he was able to see his dream coming to life.
My mother. She's a crazy short woman, much like myself. Also like me she can't sing, and aside from the mandatory recorder that we're all made to play in elementary school, I'm pretty sure she plays no instruments. She was raised in Lexington Terrace, also known as the projects- a place that was so slummy it was actually demolished about a decade ago. My mother's six siblings had various interests and goals in life. To be honest, I don't know what kind of a life my mother truly dreamed she would have. But much like my father, and completely unlike her friends and fellow siblings, my mother was in love with music. Her own music collection was no laughing matter- she listened to everything from Boys to Men to Boy George. My fondest childhood memories surround my mother dancing around the house singing her favorite song of the day, patting our behinds playfully in step to the song's beat as we pretended to be horrified and tried to run from her.
And so naturally, two musically inclined parents will inevitably create musically inclined children, and that we are. My musical tastes are limitless; there are days when I want to hear Devin the Dude, and others when I want nothing but Bjork. My life has been nothing short of colorful, featuring 23 years of mayhem and self exploration. And though I may not remember every detail of it, I can guarantee you that with every experience, good or bad, there's a song to correlate.
From this fact, "if my life had a soundtrack" was born. I hope to relive and put into words some of my fondest memories and the songs that correspond. I often say that my life should be a movie...well shit, here's my chance to prove it!
Enjoy!
