Gratitude

I am grateful Dan put a shotgun into his mouth and pulled the trigger—utterly outraged to this day for his courage and the shortsightedness towards the jewels of life, understanding now the slippery black slick on which his childhood was founded—technically not spiritually—he did smile constantly, like Don and I, talking about everything but what we should have been discussing, happily in a practice room, dreading he may ask me to play for him, choosing strategically to direct conversations towards what life is outside in the real world far from academic soundproofing—eventually playing a little on the vibes—not talking about the marimba or snare drum— slowly , not like the stock car speed in which Mr. Schneider—overweight, bearded, foggy eyed, sixth grade teacher sobbed openly in homeroom, having learned he was to be let go, immediately reacting without thought to a students inquiry on the teachers future—with innocent cold sweetness of a child’s concern—frozen in a moment of adult tragedy—similar to Bain who came to work every day, positive, strong in his blue plaid suite, orange striped shirt and black beret, carrying collective burdens of chronic Leukemia and Hodgkin's—writing compositions on the green backboard like taking dictation—needing his wife to help him walk— showing utter respect from those passing in the hall saying hello or throwing in a gentle startling cough to wake him in class –respect I felt towards other men of his generation like grandpa keeping me busy without so much as a toy in sight—eventually enduring more than anyone should have to and coming out clean on the other end with his wife’s hand until the minute he passed, bickering almost every day up to the last—bothersome painful blathering, a one eighty from my children’s cacophonic cry or laughter or endless ramblings, or as beautiful as any given thing on any given day they do naughty or nice—instant to instant thanking god for this rough track of life, for humor, smiles, uncomfortable conversations, inspiration, compliments, utter breakdowns—all zig-zagging thoughts in a moment while flapping my gums with my sons acting teacher this evening—a deconstructed shortlist of all teachers—relishing the pure influence they all had on my life thus far— my life a glorious asymmetrical additive sculpture of human interactions, lessons learned. I Praise influences.