Sing a Little Ditty

When asked if they sing, people often quip, “Only in the bathroom.”  They usually don’t intend the remark to be taken literally, but when I was a child, it was my favorite performance venue.  I suppose the tiled floor and walls, allowing my voice to echo wildly through the air was simply too much to resist.  Oh, yes… I forgot to mention, the bathroom of which I speak was not the one in my home.  These were public restrooms, usually in restaurants. 

After enjoying a peaceful and delicious meal with my mom, and sometimes other family members, I would always find an excuse to make my way into the restroom before we left. 

 Curtain up!

Out would pour songs from 1970s top forty radio, country western, and even a little pop and rock.  But my favorite song, by far, was “Tomorrow” from the Broadway musical, Annie.  It didn’t seem to matter to me that there were people constantly invading my concert hall to pee.  I joyously continued my one-man concert, despite odd stares or rude comments.  On occasion, I would even receive a bit of applause for my effort. 

The only problem with my artistic endeavor was that the entire restaurant could hear me, including my mortified mother.  As my performance continued to rock the house, my mother would have to slink back to the men’s restroom, amid stares and uncomfortable smiles and try to figure out how to get me to shut-up without invading the porcelain palace.  Occasionally, she would have to ask a gentleman leaving the restroom to go back inside and tell me, “Your mother would really like for you to stop singing.”  Then, I would hear my mother’s voice call from outside the restroom door, “And wash your hands!”  

On one particular restaurant outing, my mother was making her way back to our booth after another impromptu concert, when the lady in the next booth chimed up, attempting to lessen the sting of humiliation by saying, “He has a lovely voice.” 

Imagine, I now sing for a living.  But then again, I had lots of practice.

Way Ouside the Box

Albert Einstein once said, “If, at first, an idea is not absurd, there is no hope for it.”  If that’s true, then I must be one of the most absurd people on the planet.  My entire life has been filled with ideas and experiments that would make even Willy Wonka grab for his security blanket… or perhaps his 401k.  For me, however, this has just been my normal, day-to-day existence. 

 I’ve never been the type to think, “I’m going to go to college, get my degree, and get a job in… (insert your favorite industry here).  That’s not to say I haven’t tried college – I have, and I found it so stifling that I almost pulled my eyeballs out… all four times!  I have always been a critical thinker, a busy-body who continually questions the status quo, and most college people don’t like that.  “Fitting in” has never been my style, nor my desire, for that matter.  

Now, please don’t misunderstand me.  I’m not saying that I purposely rail against the establishment just for the sake of being different.  I’m saying that I am physically, mentally, and emotionally unable to align myself with what everyone else is doing, simply because it’s what everyone else is doing.  It’s like asking a cat to bark… it can’t happen. 

I have traveled some fairly bumpy roads as a result of my thinking way outside the box.  I have lost jobs, burned bridges, and even lost a dear friend in the process.  But somewhere deep inside, I have to believe that God put this quality in me for a reason.  Thinking and dreaming in starkly unique ways is just what I do.  It’s who I am… and I’m okay with that.

My Imagination and Me

For as long as I can remember… probably even longer, I have had an insatiable thirst for creative expression. The happiest and most satisfying times in my life have always been when my imagination was running amok. When my mind goes into creative mode, everything around me ceases to exist. Unfortunately, this has not always made me a good candidate for taking care of the real-life issues that pop-up every now and again, like taking out the garbage, and feeding the dog. No one knows this better than my mother, who has most often been on the receiving end of my imagination blackouts. But luckily, for me, my mom saw that spark (or forest fire) of imagination in me and allowed me to create and explore at levels not seen since the building of the Roman Empire.

All of my teachers had regular run-ins with my imagination as well. Oddly enough, I always earned good grades, but if you were to pick up any of my old report cards from elementary school, you would see comments from my teachers on one consistent theme, “He is a daydreamer.”

If you’ll allow me, I would like to share with you, some of my life experiences, as seen through the lens of my wild, wonderful, frustrating, sometimes stroke-inducing, unbridled imagination.