I grew up on country music. My dad played back up lead with a guy who after dad left, the band made it big, and stayed in the charts for many years. All of my dad’s side of the family played guitars and sang.

Family reunions, BBQ†s, or just going somewhere to visit, there seemed to always be someone with a guitar. My dad could play up beat, or moan the blues with the best of them.

After dads truck wreck, dad was hospitalized for almost two years and then bed rest for a long time. His body was nearly crushed, and he had forty percent brain damage. Dad had to retrain himself to play again. I watched him fumble with the strings until he learned every chord.

Early one morning, I heard him playing and singing. I remember starting to cry, because this was the household that remembered Dad playing his Gibson Guitar, and mom getting breakfast ready.

We always had breakfast at about six a.m., and it was a breakfast that you sink your teeth into. It was usually biscuits, gravy, eggs, and potatoes. Mom always had a hot breakfast for us long before school started. We’d get the dishes cleaned up and went to school.

There was always music in my house. Dad was either playing it, or mom had the radio on. Mom wasn’t big on T.V. She would turn the radio on and do her house work, and sometimes when she thought no one was looking, she danced across the floor. I guess that’s where I get it from; I’m not much on T.V. either.

My dad is no longer here since he went to heaven, and most of my aunts and uncles have done the same. I would give most anything to hear them all play together again. I sure wish I would’ve recorded them.

By: James Grimes

4/18/09

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