Of Being at Peace

Today I had to take a toy away from my sixteen year old step son because the three year old was screaming that it was his turn to play with the toy.

The toy was my new iPhone.

And i got into a verbal argument with the sixteen year old on how we are supposed to share things.

I can't believe I had this argument.

They were both yelling at each other and so I took the phone away from the big one and handed it to the little one.

Was I not being fair with the usage of my new toy? Was I taking the side of my biological son over the side of the son I have raised for the last decade? Have I failed on both sides of the fatherhood aisle? Was I spoiling the little one while treating the bigger one with disdain?

I'm sure I will never know until I meet another parent out there who has had the fortune of raising two sons thirteen years apart in age and comparing notes.

Another of my dad's aphorisms, and I quote:

"Parents don't want justice . . . they want quiet."

I believe this more than anything I have ever believed in my whole life. Especially being a man who values quiet and logic above all things.

I don't care who's right.

The little one is quiet when he's playing with the phone.

that's all that matters.

And how does this relate to music? You ask.

Well, shortly after I ended the argument I saw that my old phone had a few text messages.

I opened it up and discovered, to my horror, that my booking agent has gotten me some new gigs for the upcoming months.

Now don't misunderstand. My booking agent, manager, brilliant friend, biggest fan, will do everything in her considerable power to see to it that I go far. She is an unyielding force, and there is no safer human being that could be entrusted with my faith.

Knowing this, I immediately replied "Yes" to both new gigs. Because it's awesome. And I need to break out of my comfort zones.

But even she might be surprised to know that I am suffering from both a serious amount of stage fright, and an incredible inferiority complex.

Frankly I'm scared to put myself to the test.

Even though it is everything I have secretly dreamed of.

Even though I have been practicing diligently for the last six months.

Even though I now have several successful gigs under my belt.

I'm terrified I'm gonna fail.

I'm not afraid of looking the fool. Or losing any street cred (cause I never really had any). No what I am afraid of is the moment when I have to recognize that I am too old, too fat, too married, too mediocre, too impossibly established as a suburbanite to ever consider dreams of rock and roll independence.

That's the day that I have to realize that the life I have lead has finally suffered its first major sacrifice.

That I became a man instead of a star.

But as I write this, I'm listening into the living room as the little one is playing his driving game on the iPhone, and the big one is reading the seventh "Harry Potter" along with the book on tape. They are sitting on the couch in peace.

My wife is watering the lawn and will soon be doing the dishes. Not because she's the wife of the house and these are her duties, but because she's the wife of the house, and those are the things she's taken responsibility for.

There is peace in my house.

And peace with myself.

Regardless of who I am.

Regardless of who I may become.