My grandfather on my mother’s side was a drummer. He had a band called Harry Marshak and his Minstrels of Melody. They played the Cork Club in Montreal regularly and were, I think, on the radio. The story goes that my grandmother laid down the law at some point and told him to lose the drums. He loved her more than he loved the drums. I don’t remember him ever once complaining about missing playing drums. Judging from the way he tapped out complex rhythms on our backs as little children, I suspect he wasn’t bad. He did always say that he was going to write a book. If only he had the time to set aside to write that book. But he worked hard (for his brother-in-law) and didn’t get paid that handsomely and just had too much to do…
I loved my grandfather. He lived to age 90 and died a victim. He was a victim in life and never had the wherewithal to do what he needed to do. I’m not advocating that he should have left my grandmother, whom I also loved dearly and who made the best cookies to this day that I have ever had. But it’s so easy to blame everything in this world on everyone and everything else rather than to say “I need to make the effort to do this thing”. If you try and fail, well then you’re not a victim. If you never try at all…If I never try at all (if docweissband never tries at all), well then I have nobody to blame but myself.
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