Musical Shakespearean Tragedy

The “Eutaw Gang” in junior high school consisted of Joey, Peanut, Forrest, Pat, Tye, and me. Each of us down to earth guys had a motorcycle. My abused l971 CT-70H trail bike had seen better days. The front forks had been replaced, so the traditional folding handle bars that allow the machine to be tossed in a trunk were gone. The wiring didn’t work either. It did start and run most of the time. After mentoring sessions where my parents had to be present for the riding session, I finally graduated to freedom riding! They were strict that I obey the local laws, while the rest of our gang freely rode in the streets. You had to be aggressive, elusive, and quick to avoid getting caaught by a cop. I did not have these skills, and I did not have the majority of other skills necessary to be cool. I began to learn. Although I was “Junior” in this particular gang, I had been “gang leader” in our neighborhood before junior high school. Steve and Dwayne were in my gang, but they were younger than me making me “Senior.” I was “Paul Sr.” back then, but now I am “Paul lll”. My father, “Paul Jr.” is “Paul Sr.” My grandfather, the real “Paul Sr.” is dead, thank God! Don’t get me wrong. I miss him, but enough is enough. Although my father no longer works in music his reputation proceeds him. That has made it difficult for me to make my mark in the field of music. He still is clinging to the last remnants of his past musical existence, and that means there will be no “passing of the torch” until he has kicked the bucket. How I ended up back in my hometown being perceived as his child is beyond me. How can social strata in a particular town be so staid? I didn’t ask to be thought of as a child and therefore treated as such. It is just your existence as a child also was a major part of their existence as adults. You must not be able to ask aging people to learn how to relate to you as a grown adult. Until you staunchly proclaim yourself an adult and conquer their previous roles with force, they never will concede. This is the definition of “Old Money,” of which I hate so fervently. Welcome to the American South. Because it is far easier to fit in and, “Do as the Romans do,” it is unlikely to happen. “Until death do us part,” is more applicable. I lament and sob at my inability to become actualized as an adult in the eyes of my parents. How can you when the kingdom is so well guarded by their posts as guards? They consider me a failure, yet they keep me at bay by not allowing me to become who I am by exposing my love of music. My love of music does not coincide with my fathers, and that has always been his secret weapon in life. This is not how it was and should be in their eyes. Children are supposed to love their parents above everything, even if that means they become a failure in life. Your effort in music was always a gift for them, and this is what they expect it to be now. There is no room for personal indulgence. That is not allowed, because your areas of probable happiness are in direct opposition to theirs. They have no real happiness, but their eyes are upon you for using your life to provide that happiness by living their past lives through you. What a tragedy it is that your nurturing parents will never be able to understand, appreciate, and enjoy who you are through your own music. The ego is so big, that it won’t allow any other purveyors of the craft of music. What a tragedy a man thinks his son is the enemy, because it is a fight to the death to retain your own happiness.

William Shakespeare.

(not really)