What sort of music was played in your house when you were growing up? What effect, (if any) did it have on your musical tastes?
I’ve blogged extensively in the past on this subject. Here is the link to my earliest musical memory: https://jitterygt.wordpress.com/2012/03/23/my-first-memory-of-music/
I hope you enjoy it.
Here is my short story for the day. I hope you enjoy it as well.
Mark rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. He sat up. “Where am I?” he said.
It was a park bench. He rubbed his finger tips across the seat as sort of a test to experiment if it was real or not. Around him trees tossed about like waves in a green ocean.
“How did I get here,” he mumbled.
He scanned through squinted eyes. “It’s a park, but where.” He looked at the sun. “Still morning.” He quickly turned around to the sound of children laughing and playing on swings and a merry-go-round.
His eyes darted spasmodically side to side. “Just calm down,” he thought. “It will all come back to you.”
Mark breathed deeply. Nothing familiar sprung to his mind.
A lady sat beside him. She had a kind smile and dressed in modest attire like she was a secretary or teacher. He noticed in the distance another woman dressed in the same manner watching them.
“You look distressed,” she said. “Can I do something for you?”
“Where am I?” Mark said.
“This is City Park,” the woman said tilting her head to look closely at Mark’s condition.
“What city?” Mark said.
“This is Springfield,” she said. “You don’t look well. You look as if somebody may have roughed you up.”
“What are you doing here?” Mark said.
“My friend and I,” she said nodding to the woman watching a short distance away. “We come here a couple of times a week to share an encouraging thought from the Bible with people in the park and offer some literature to consider later.”
“Have we met before,” Mark said rubbing his head. “I think there’s a bump on my head. It’s sore.”
“You look familiar,” she said. “I may have talked to you a few months ago. You should go to a hospital and be checked out. You may have had a stroke or perhaps internal injuries.”
“Ma’am,” Mark said. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t have any money.” He patted his pockets. “I have nothing on me. I really need help.”
She waved for the other woman to come. They briefly discussed the situation and decided it might be best to call the police.
An officer arrived and there was a brief discussion. Mark agreed to go with the policeman to the station and see if things could be sorted out.
“You’re a lucky guy,” The policeman said walking Mark to the police car. “If I was in your shape you couldn’t be in better hands than those two ladies.”
“Who are they?” Mark said still confused and stumbling.
“Jehovah’s Witnesses,” the policeman said. “You can trust them to help and not take advantage of you. Not all religious people can be trusted, but you can trust them.”
“For some reason,” Mark said. “I think I’m Catholic.”
“It was probably Catholics who put the bump on your head and took your billfold, ID, and money,” the policeman said.
“Officer, officer,” the woman called out.
Mark and the police officer stopped.
The woman hurried to them smiling broadly. “I remember who you are?”
“Who am I?” Mark said excitedly.
“Two weeks ago I was sharing a scripture with you,” the woman said. “I have your name written in my note book.” She licked her finger and walked through the pages. “Her it is,” she said. “Father Mark, you’re the Catholic priest at Saint Joseph’s.”
“The scripture, what was it?” Mark said.
“I have it written next to your name,” the woman said. “It was Isaiah 65:17; ‘For look! I am creating new heavens and a new earth; And the former things will not be called to mind…’”