He Is Playing The Piano.
Today my “baby” turns 21.
Dylan arrived home from college yesterday, top down on his Mustang after two days of driving. We went to see the new Spiderman movie last night. This morning we went out and played pickleball. We got his favorite Habit burgers for lunch, along with milkshakes for those who wanted them.
As I write, he is playing the piano. Dylan has been playing the piano since it was a 12-inch toy with eight keys. He’s a singer, without a doubt, but he loves the piano. We got this piano from my sister, who got it from my aunt. Dylan hasn’t stopped playing it since.
We tried to give Dylan piano lessons, and he went to a couple. But sitting and playing scales wasn’t for him. He’s never learned to read music, which has cost him a spot in all of the college’s a cappella groups. He didn’t practice piano until we gave up and took him out of lessons. Then he started to play.
He just sat down and started to play. He thought of a song he liked, and he sat down and learned how to play it. He plays with two hands, not one finger (like I do), and he plays chords and notes and mixes them beautifully. In fact, he can play – quite literally – any song he wants to play.
He was originally playing Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey. He started a few minutes ago and played it until he figured it out. Over and over and over. And it’s loud. It’s the kind of loud that, if it weren’t so beautiful, you would want to cover your ears and scream. Over and over and over and over and over … and then, voila! He figured it out.
So then, in the blink of an eye, he switched to the theme from Halloween, the horror movie. He’s been playing that one for about ten minutes now. Every now and then, he’ll stop playing long enough to respond to messages on his phone.
If it were up to Dylan, he would play piano – figuring out songs one at a time – all day, every day.
Dylan doesn’t know what he’s going to do “for a living,” but he’ll never stop playing music unless something physically forces him to do so.
Bill’s coworkers are excited that Dylan is turning 21. “You can finally buy him his first beer!” they say, laughing because it’s so unlikely that Dylan hasn’t already had several hundred illegal alcoholic drinks.
But Dylan doesn’t drink; he’s never wanted that life. Dylan won’t be going out tonight and drinking alcohol. And with much of his non-drunk time, he’ll be playing the piano.
He’s finished with Halloween now – and moved on to learning the music from The Nightmare Before Christmas. In my head I’m singing along: “This is Halloween; this is Halloween.” But it’s a week before Christmas. If Dylan stops playing piano now, I’ll be stuck with this song in my head until he plays something new.
Maybe this isn’t the typical 21st birthday celebration.
I drank so much on my 21st birthday that I passed out on the sidewalk outside my dorm. I woke in the morning with no clothes, sheets or blankets because I’d vomited all night long. My roommate spent her night doing my laundry. And she also saved my life: I could have easily choked to death on all that vomit.
To say that I am grateful for Dylan’s decisions would be the understatement of a lifetime.
Happiest of birthdays, Son.