Fatherhood has had a profound impact on my life, as it should, and playing music has come to occupy a different space than it did before my son's arrival last fall.
It used to be that I'd carve out an hour almost every night to play banjo or fiddle. I would mark the calendar each month with the local old-time jams I planned to attend, and then attend them I would.
Ever since my son was born last September, these luxuries seem beyond my reckoning. Now, I play my music in whatever time I can manage between work and family duties.
My wife has been OK with my instruments residing in our dining room, close at hand for when I have the time to play.
When the weather is nice, I drag my fiddle to the office and play in a nearby park at lunchtime.
When my son gets fussy eating his dinner, I yank my banjo off the stand and play until he's ready for the next bite.
When his eyes are fluttering as he settles down for a nap, I serenade his dreams.
And when he's finally off to bed for the night and my wife is still at work, I pick up whatever instrument has been idle longest.
I haven't been to jam since before he was born, though not for lack of trying. A few weeks ago, all three of us headed out for an old-time session, but we arrived at the location to discover that the jam no longer took place there.
We visited an antique store and drove around instead. I don't know when I'll be able to carve out such a time again. I still mark those jams on the calendar, but it feels like wishful thinking anymore.
This is life now. I know when he gets a bit older and doesn't need constant monitoring that I will be able to drag him along to jams and local festivals. For the time being, I hope that my playing for him is embedding this music in his heart so that one day he'll be able to play alongside me. That's the dream.
Ever since my son was born last September, these luxuries seem beyond my reckoning. Now, I play my music in whatever time I can manage between work and family duties.
My wife has been OK with my instruments residing in our dining room, close at hand for when I have the time to play.
When the weather is nice, I drag my fiddle to the office and play in a nearby park at lunchtime.
When my son gets fussy eating his dinner, I yank my banjo off the stand and play until he's ready for the next bite.
When his eyes are fluttering as he settles down for a nap, I serenade his dreams.
And when he's finally off to bed for the night and my wife is still at work, I pick up whatever instrument has been idle longest.
I haven't been to jam since before he was born, though not for lack of trying. A few weeks ago, all three of us headed out for an old-time session, but we arrived at the location to discover that the jam no longer took place there.
We visited an antique store and drove around instead. I don't know when I'll be able to carve out such a time again. I still mark those jams on the calendar, but it feels like wishful thinking anymore.
This is life now. I know when he gets a bit older and doesn't need constant monitoring that I will be able to drag him along to jams and local festivals. For the time being, I hope that my playing for him is embedding this music in his heart so that one day he'll be able to play alongside me. That's the dream.
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