From a couple of previous post, you may see where I still have my days of missing my Great Grandparents and especially my Grandpa who passed away a couple of years ago. He was a great man. His influence on his family is still present to this day and I have no doubt will be for generations to come. His love of the Lord and playing music is woven into the very fabrics of our lives.

My heart aches some days at the memories I have and the times I wish could still be, but if there is one person I know who hurts from it more than I, it is my Dad. He’s changed from it and as much as I wish I could say it is for the better, some days we know it is not. I have no doubts on the foundation on which he stands on but sometimes I wonder about the walls he has constructed.

I found you in the strings.

I can’t sing. Never could. Mom says we have this monotone voice. As much as I try to sound Trisha, Faith, or Shania, I just can’t. Cats in the neighborhood run. But I have found that I can play the flute. Grandpa was so excited to have me play music with him. He would go back in the room and open up a music book and I would play the melody while he would play chords. He was always so patient and just happy to strum along. Sometimes he would sing along. I had forgotten about that part…

Until this past Saturday. I had been practicing some chords and know some of the notes on the guitar so I asked Dad about coming down and playing since Mom had to work. I took some of the music books I had and headed down there with the guitar and my flute. Unfortunately he didn’t have the strings on his acoustic but he broke out the electic guitar and said here check this out. While he was busy checking out something I strummed a few bars of Red River Valley and he came and we played some more of it together.

Before I knew what was happening, he was gushing about his laptop which I usually have negative feelings toward since this has become my Father’s best friend, but he showed me how you could record with it and set it down and we played Red River Valley.

I was so nervous. It had been so long since I had played and as much as I wanted it to be perfect, I couldn’t help but feel like I had an audience besides my Dad and I. I just kept thinking about Grandpa and how proud he would be to see his Son and Granddaughter doing something that we used to always do.

Just like Grandpa, Dad didn’t care that I was off beat. He didn’t care that I was all nerves. He was just happy to be playing.

He hit stop and we played it back and we couldn’t help but just laugh and smile at each other. We were so happy and proud of it. It doesn’t sound like anything special but it was us practicing for the first time just the two of us. It was like applying salve to a wound, an itch that needed scratching.

I’m not looking for any critiquing but here is our first take: