The irony of it all is that the only thing I want to do is to make everyone happy. I want to shelter and protect them from anything that would cause them pain and disappointment.
Once again, irony of ironies, that pain and disappointment are usually caused by me.
Journal entry #1
February 2001
“Mr. Masters,” my teacher began with a sigh. I ducked my head low as tears fell down my face. Momma rubbed my back soothingly, but it made me feel worse. I might not have meant to hurt that girl,but I did. It was an accident, but it was still my fault. “Maddox pushed Madelyn, causing her to fall into the table. It knocked out her front tooth and split her lip badly enough to need stitches. Now, I know he didn’t mean to hurt her, but this is just one in a long line of issues we’ve had with him.”
“What do you mean ‘issues’?” My dad practically snarled.
“Maddox is a—a sweet boy, but he lacks self-control. Throughout the day, I constantly have to remind him to be quiet or sit down. Sometimes he wanders around the classroom, and he will ignore me when I ask him to sit down. He’s disruptive and often distracts the other children. Also, he seldom completes his work. More often, he stops before he’s half-finished.”
“I see.” My dad looked over to me in that obdurate way he always did, but his tone was controlled in a way only he could manage. “What would you suggest we do?”
He wasn’t going to do what she said. I knew that. He was patronizing the woman. I didn’t understand how she didn’t realize that when, at seven years old, I did.
The woman sat up straighter, the hubris plain in her eyes. “I am only a teacher.” She mocked humility. “I don’t have the training to tell you what he needs, but he may require special classes to better serve him. I cannot spend my entire class trying to corral him. It’s not fair to the other students. Quite frankly, I’m not certain he will pass the end of the year testing. His grades and work quality are not indicative that he will.”
She’d already called me dumb once or twice in class. Yelled out that I was stupid too. So, I knew exactly what she was saying to my dad, except she was trying to sound like a professional.
The thing was, I didn’t mean to disrupt the class. I tried to do the work and listen to what she said. No matter how hard I tried to focus, I couldn’t. I’d get the first questions of a worksheet done then an uncontrollable urge would come over me to start something else. I’d have this irrational need to get out of my chair and walk around the room.
“Perhaps it’s time to take him to a professional, Trey,” my momma said with a hand over his.
“He doesn’t need a professional, Amanda. He needs discipline and structure. You’ve been too lenient with him.”
I listened to them argue the entire way home. Over me. My knees bounced, and fingers tapped on my thighs as I sat in the backseat of their car. It seemed like they only fought over me.
“He’s only seven, Trey. He’s a little boy with a lot of energy and nothing that holds his interest.”
“Just like Jewel was,” Dad muttered. “Fine. Let’s find something that will hold his attention.”
They tried. Peewee football, soccer, tee-ball, even Tai Quan Do and karate. Everything was tried, and nothing held my interest. My dad was ready to hold me back until my test scores came in at the end of the year. I passed first grade with flying colors.
My restlessness was still an issue, but momma was determined to find something that interested me for more than five minutes.
She found it one Saturday morning. I awoke to noise coming from downstairs and voices I didn’t recognize. When I walked into the family room, two menmoved a piano into place.
The shining black wood captivated me. Its massive size intimidated me. But it was a beacon, calling to me, drawing me in with every step I took.
“What do you think, Madsy?” Momma asked with a wide, hopeful smile spread across her beautiful face. My eyes shifted to my father, who watched me with a mixture of hope and worry.
“This is so cool,” I breathed as I ran a hand over the smooth, slick surface. “Can I play sometime?” I asked while I bounced in place.
Momma nodded her head furiously, her grin grew impossibly wider until all her teeth showed. “Absolutely. In fact, Daddy and I thought you might like to learn.”
My eyes widened with excitement. “Can I try now?”
“Go ahead,” Dad told me as he gestured to the bench.
I sat, then tentatively pressed an ivory key. Its sound exploded through the room like a bright burst of colors and shapes before me. That single note reverberated through me and filled the space with a beautiful cadence that ricocheted through my soul.
I felt it in my bones.
That moment was when I discovered my first love. I knew in thatsingle, precious moment of time that music was as much a part of me as breathing. It felt like the missing piece.
Slowly, I moved my fingers over each key, listening to the full-bodied sounds as they bounced against the walls and the colors exploded before my eyes. I committed each one to memory.
