It’s rather funny sometimes the things you remember as a child. My husband, for example, remembers going down the stairs in his walker as an infant. His mother swears he only remembers this because she told him the story about it years later. He says he remembers because he did it on purpose.
I most definitely cannot remember anything that far back. I remember dance recitals, some birthday parties, not really much of the day-to-day goings on. People’s names and faces from that long ago have started to fade from my memory.
The Child Artist
One thing I do remember is feeling as though I was the only one in the family who didn’t have any artistic talent. My dad went to school for art at Virginia Commonwealth University, and majored in Communications Arts. He worked at the Science Museum of Virginia, teaming up with the scientists to build the exhibits.
My brother excelled at art throughout his life, earning a scholarship to the VCU School of Arts. He now owns his own successful screen printing business.
My mom learned how to sew at a very young age, making her own clothes even in elementary school. Growing up she had her own side business creating unique flag designs, makingthe patterns, and sewing the flags all on her own. She taught me how to do needlepoint and a few sewing machine basics.
I tried a few art classes in middle school, and realized very quickly that stick figures were about as good as it was going to get. I tried photography and drama, and was told that I sucked at memorisizing. (I participated in a one act play, and forgot my lines during the last scene. I haven’t been on stage since.) And more so than that, I really wasn’t interested in any of it.
I found myself being drawn toward the writing classes. I took anything that I could that involved writing, from creative writing to journalism. I even went on to the join the Newspaper Staff in high school. (Read more about that here.)
In high school, along with the numerous notebooks I had to carry around for all of my classes, I carried around a notebook that I would write in. It had short stories, essays, poetry, anything I felt like writing about. I didn’t conform to any writing standards or styles. It was my own little hidden joy.
The Adult Writer
As an adult I tried to be one of those DIY people. Did I mention how much I hate painting? I won’t even paint a wall in my house. I make my husband do it. He’s an artist so he must like all forms of painting, right?
Why yes, I even married an artist. He is a sculpter, painter, photographer and screen printer. He also went to VCU art school, and graduated in Illustration. Clearly I have appreciation for the beautiful creations of this world.
What I am now starting to realize is that I was so stuck on this concept of finding the “artist” inside of me that I was missing it all together. I had this whole illusion of art being something tangible that you can hold or hang on a wall. That was what I understood to be “art.”
In reality my writing was my art all along. There was a reason that I was being pulled by all of those writing classes, and why the other ones only seemed to bore me. It was why I carried around that notebook, and why I still carry one around to this day. It’s why there are little scraps of paper all over the house with varying notes and lists. (Sorry babe!)
I remember my dad always encouraging me to write more. (He always loved my poetry.) Why didn’t I listen to him sooner? I guess even as an adult you never really want to admit that sometimes your parents are right.
The Musician
Music is another form of art that I have come to appreciate over the years. Most recently I have found music to be quite an effective way to get myself hyped up before a run, or to calm myself down when my anxiety is starting to get the better of me. (Read more about that here.)
During my twenties I never really payed attention to music aside from what band is playing at the bar that night, so I can determine whether or not I am going to make any money. There was a standing rule at the last place I worked that when “Sweet Caroline” came on, I immediately would go on a smoke break. I didn’t care what the customers wanted. (After I quit smoking, I would just go outside.) The other bartenders just knew.
When I was little my dad used to play the guitar and sing to me. I was always fascinated by people who could play instruments. I tried to learn how to play the piano once, but that didn’t really pan out to anything. I don’t know if it was due to the fact that my mom was trying to teach me, or if I just didn’t really like it.
Dad always loved music. He would lay on the floor with his giant headphones on and listen to the stereo. He would play Michael Jackson’s Thriller on the record player. I would get so scared that I would hide under the blankets until the song was over.
After we got cable, (Finally! Practically the whole neighborhood had it before we did.) we would watch the MTV Top Ten Countdown. This was way before Carson Daly. The hosts had a wooden board with balloons taped to it. They would throw darts at the balloons to reveal the next song on the countdown. It sounds really cheesy when I think about that now, but that shit was awesome in the nineties.
Music is the language of mankind.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
As a Father’s Day tribute I made a Spotify playlist with every song played on the MTV Top Ten Countdown during it’s twenty year span. I would like to thank Wyld Card for putting this song list together. Happy Father’s day to all the dads out there. I hope you enjoy this MTV Top 10 Countdown playlist.
XOXO – Jenna
