Bryson has recently become quite serious about his music. His musical interest is nothing new. He's been playing the uke and guitar for years, much to my delight. Sometimes when he's in the living room having a little jam session, and I'm in the office, I close my eyes and its very easy to imagine my dad out there, playing away. Bryson has Dad's picking style. It makes Bryson smile when I tell him that. As icing on the cake, he enjoys the same music that my father loved. Of course, Bry is very much talented in his own right. Lately, he's begun writing and recording his own music. When he's not working, or surfing, he's in the garage, either on his own or with his friends, banging out the songs. This is a simple joy in my life that swells my heart. I know that my dad would have loved to be here, sitting in with his grandson, sharing the tunes and the musical wisdom.
Last week, Bryson was, as usual, out in the garage working on a new song. I have gotten used to his music as part of the soundtrack of my life. I go about my business, whatever it may be; housework, paperwork, laundry, etc., always with the Grommet's melodic accompaniment. I was in my office, sitting at my desk, trying to sort through a pile of overdue filing, when Bryson came in. He had a Cat-Who-Ate-The-Canary kind of smile on his face. I thought maybe he had composed a new song he wanted me to hear.
"Hey Mommy, I opened Grandpa's guitar case. He's the last one to use the guitar, right? I mean, no one's used Grandpa's guitar since he passed away?"
"No, Bud. I'm pretty sure he was the last, and now it's yours."
He smiled again and leaned over my desk. Putting his hand underneath the light, he held out a capo which was dangling over his index finger. Carefully, with the other hand, he pointed at the shiny metal end. Not comprehending his intent, I shrugged my shoulders.
"What, Grommie? I don't understand."
He pointed at the shiny metal on the capo again.
"Look! A fingerprint!"
Sure enough, there it was. A perfect fingerprint.
"Well, if Grandpa was the last one to use his guitar, and this case has been closed since he passed away....then...."
I looked up into his eyes. They were wide and full of awe and excitement. As if he had found the most valuable treasure known to man. Or at least to one man's grandson. I couldn't help but smile back at him. He winked at me and walked away with his treasure. It's one thing, I guess, to have something special that belonged to someone special. But it's another thing to have some kind of physical proof that they touched that thing themselves.
This morning, when I went out to the garage to put a load of laundry into the washer, I noticed the guitar leaning against the pool table. It had a capo on the neck, but it wasn't Dad's capo. It was Bry's regular old capo. Then I noticed a little plastic ziploc bag on the table with Dad's capo inside. Something tells me he's not gonna be using that one for awhile. :)