“You’re getting a lot better... you don’t need to look at your finger placements on the fret board as often.”
“I have a good teacher.”
I shrug. I’m only as good as my student allows me to be, and he knows this. I could have him practicing every day, but I want him to be a kid. I want him to go outside and get dirty in the mud, race his bike down the street and come home when the street lights are on, exhausted and excited for the next day.
“Are you going to take care of your mom while I’m gone?”
Noah stops and sets his guitar down on my bed. From where I’m standing and he’s seated, we have a perfect view of each other. Sometimes when I look at him I see me, other times it’s Josie. It’s hard to fathom that we created him and that I missed most of his life. When I glance at him now, I see worry and trepidation. I put those there in his mind.
I stop pulling clothes off my shelf and go sit by him. I remember so much at his age. How happy I was playing with Mason, how throwing a football around was fun and how we couldn’t wait until high school. That all changed for me in middle school. For Noah, the change is there, just different. We’ve been performing locally for a while and he came with us on the one tour we’ve done since I’ve been in his life. This time it’s different. This time he’s going to experience what it’s like to be the son of a musician. Most children grow into the role. He’s being thrown in to it.
“Do you have to go?” he asks, picking at the hem of his frayed shorts. He bought them like that, much to Josie’s chagrin. When I told her it’s the style, she threw her hands up and left the store, muttering something about spending money on clothes with pre-made holes. But his shorts are identical to mine and I think that’s why he wanted them.
“Yeah, I do. Trixie helped me a lot when I was a kid looking for a place to play. She’d let me play at her club and I slowly started to build a following. If it weren’t for her and my grandmother, I don’t know what I’d be doing right now.”
Noah sighs, turning, so he’s facing me. One foot dangles off the bed, swinging back and forth, while his other is tucked under his leg.
“Why can’t you wait until after school is out?”
Ideally, that’s what we’d like to do but time is of the essence. Not that I expect my son to understand someone else’s plight.
“The club that Trixie owns has been in her family for a long time and it’s closing because she doesn’t have the money to keep it open. There are a few of us going that started out there, and we’re going back in hopes to help her stay open a little longer. I wish I could tell everyone that we need to wait but, if I do, I’ll be too late. And Harrison and JD are going whether I go or not.”
“Do you remember when you first came here?”
“Of course I do.?
?? I’m not likely to forget the two moments that changed my life.
“Nick was mad that you were at Uncle Mason’s funeral and I heard him telling Mom that you’re never going to stay and raise a family.”
“Nick’s wrong,” I immediately tell him. “Mistakes were made when your mom and I were younger. So many things could’ve been different, but your mom and I can’t change the past. I’m not leaving you guys behind. I’m going to work. I’m not any different from other dads.”
This seems to spark a smile out of Noah. “Yes, you are.”
I shake my head. “No, Noah, I’m really not. Every day I wake up, take you to school and go to my studio to write or work on new music. My job is making me take a business trip, and that means I’ll bring home all these cool presents or whatever it is that us dads do. It’s really no different from when Nick went to Africa and came back with Aubrey.”
The mention of Nick returning with Aubrey causes Noah’s eyes to go wide. That scenario probably wasn’t the best one to use since he left and came back with a wife.
“Bad example,” I say, quickly diffusing the situation. “What I mean is parents sometimes have to go away for business, and that’s all I’m doing. The band is going to play a few gigs, help out an old friend and we’ll be home before you know it.”
“Do you think I could join the band?” Noah picks up his guitar and strums quickly and very out of tune while making a Gene Simmons face.
I set my hand over his to stop my ears from bleeding and try to fight back the laughter to no avail. My son is damn cute and funny, and he makes me believe in myself.
“You can be anything you want to be, Noah. I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll be standing next to you, guiding and offering you all the support that you’ll need. When you succeed, I’ll be the first one to congratulate you unless your mom beats me to it... and if you fail, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
Dads aren’t supposed to be sentimental, but I am. He’s far too important for me to hold back and not tell him how I feel. My father did that. I won’t. I won’t have a troubled relationship with my son, or be that parent he can’t come to whether it’s good or bad.
I lightly punch his shoulder and get a grin in return. “Okay, enough heavy stuff. When are you going to play the song for your mom?”
Noah returns to playing, focusing on the song this time. He hums a few lines and makes it really obvious he really doesn’t know the words.
“Can I help?” I ask, not wanting to step on his toes or get in his way.
“Sure.”
“What if you play and I sing?”