Sins of Our Fathers

In hindsight I suspect my dad silently hoped, secretly conceived, vicariously needed his dream I would become a multi-talented musician. He said, No. behind my mother's gentle apron strings of soft-voiced disappointment, but also hidden within unspoken fear of Catholic influence when I was invited to join The Vienna Boy's Choir. I was too young. I would be missed--the farm was an absorbing enterprise. I wasn't ready. They weren't ready, yet, to let go. But, then offers of guitar and piano and trombone lessons, and choir and worship music leader soon followed, as if from straight white watered washed and lied patriots blessed by prize-giving patriarchs who listened barely long enough to hear I was marketably good as an entertainer, a professional, not just another deep soul singer or deeply soiled male dancer.