Every step you take...

I sat atop my stoop like a great stone gargoyle gazing out over the kingdom bequeathed to him by the sculptor who carved him and the architect who chose him to adorn his masterwork.

And, much like the gargoyle, I watched.

I observed trios jogging. Couples walking hand-in-hand. Singles strolling by dejectedly with hands shoved deep in pockets.

While most paid me no heed, the occasional individual would glance my way. Some would eye me just as I was eying them. A few nodded in silent greeting. And yet one scowled as though I were a grotesque destined for an existence of ogling solitude.

To her I simply smiled.

I continued my observational duties.

The redhead who worked fastidiously at fixing her sunsoaked hair in a high ponytail all the while returning my gaze trying to calculate what I was all about.

The couple seated in a nearly indistinguishable mass of unadulterated lust. Both facing out toward the river sheltered overhead by a decades-old bridge of ivory-hued stone. She sat between his legs, her back nestled almost too securely in his chest while her forearms found a perch on his bent knees.

Ah, young love.

Then I saw him. The teenaged loner ambling along the other side of the river. His moppish hair worn long over his face and making scant contact with his shoulders. His baggy pants began their life as an olive drab; years of exposure to the sun had reduced them to a muddied khaki. Their length nearly obscuring his lack of footwear. The full-length button-up shirt that should have been billowing in the mid-spring breeze was held firmly in check by a single black canvas strap stretched from one shoulder across his chest to the opposite side securely held his instrument to his back in a travel bag.

My gut told me it was an acoustic guitar, an instrument that, despite its bulk, was a preference of those in this area. Easily transported and ready to be wielded on a moment's notice.

My gut would be wrong.

As my view of the pouch became less obscured, I saw its elongated neck and the squat, round body. This child was breaking with convention. Instead of committing himself to an instrument that a vast number of his peers claim to be able to play and, thus, becoming one of millions, he was breaking free of the proverbial mold. He had made a conscious decision to be one of the few, of the splintered minority. What he had with him was just as readily playable at any given moment, but one whose sound was not readily heard in every sun-drenched park.

My young friend had opted for a banjo, an instrument I had not seen outside a store in more than a decade. One that had become synonymous in my mind with guitar players who had grown bored with their six-string fantasy and needed a new challenge. One whose sound is so easily recognized yet never fails to turn a head due to the sheer lack of adept pickers. It is also one that is not quite as socially acceptable. Would this child have throngs of women suffocating the air around him as he played in a midsummer's heat? Not likely. But did he care? Again, not likely. His dedication to the art of music making was admirable. Bucking societal expectation is never easy.

I had a new hero for the day.

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Comments

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Bre

I really really love this post. Especially "seated in a nearly indistinguishable mass of unadulterated lust. because that's precisely what I'm looking for these days!

Well done, Kevin!!

Hilly

Wow, you've made a comeback! Yesterday you had no idea what to say and today you rocked it.

*Hopes to follow in your footsteps*

sizzle

this is really well written kevin. not that your posts aren't usually but the visual imagery you paint with words is really quite fantastic.

The Exception

This was really great. I am so glad that I finally had the time to drop by.

I have the greatest appreciation for those people (and kids) who can find the confidence in themselves to follow their heart and passion over the dictates of society. (As long as this passion is legal and doesn't hurt anyone, that is!)

What a fabulous post.

Michelle

And while I always find your blog fodder thought provoking I just dropped in to say GO BRAVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BWA hahahahahahaha!!!

Ahem. Also. Best way to reach me if you want a ride is to send me an email when you're heading this way. I'll call you and we can hook up. Then I can make fun of you as well as everyone else. The anonymous you, of course. heh.

g-man

Nice job gargoyle boy.

Erin

That kid is also my new hero. I LOVE THE SOUND OF A BANJO. Play a banjo or a steel guitar and I'm pretty much yours to do with what you will. That kid is made of awesome.

Dustin

My mom has a banjo and she's my hero. I think I just figured it out...banjo = hero.

L.A. Daddy

You outta be writing screenplays, my friend.

Speaking of movies, whenever I even hear the name banjo... yeah, THAT movie.

"Squeal like a pig!"

stepping over the junk

that's so awesome. I had a friend years ago in college who had the old standby guitar, but mostly broke out the mandolin or banjo and I always thought it was awesome that he kept adding string instruments to his list of what he would play...he played the fiddle the last time i saw him.

Dagny

You lied. You made it sound like you were going to need this long vacation from blogging. Obviously not. I was riveted while reading your post.

Bec

That's beautiful - the last time I sat in a park all i had to watch were the chav's laughing at nothing and a frightened dog walker. These are the differences between Britain and America!

kapgar

Bre, nothing wrong with being part of said mass. So long as you don't make others wretch as they pass you by. ;-)

Hilly, I'm sure it was just a glitch. To think I can write like that is pretty incredible. To actually keep it up is something else entirely.

sizzle, once in a while I get that bug.

Exception, yeah, it's nice to see somebody that self confident once in a while. I could only hope to be like that.

Michelle, I will have to remember to do that. Not sure when I'll be in Portland, but it's nice to have that option available, right?

g-man, gracias.

Erin, steel guitars rock!

Dustin, she really does? Banjo, beef jerky, and homemade pickles?? Dude, you got an awesome mom!

L.A. Daddy, don't worry, I was thinking the same thing as I wrote it. Poor Ned Beatty.

sotj, that's skill. Plain and simple.

Dagny, I'll never take a long vacation from blogging. I just can't guarantee that the quality of the rest of my posts will be that great. I think I tapped the creativity well far too deep on that post. ;-)

Bec, what's a "chav"? And just what was the dog walker frightened of?

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