Saturday

My father has been learning to play the guitar for years now. His technical proficiency has certainly increased but his playing continues to lack feeling, what some would call soul. Really, no matter how accurate the notes, each one sounds learned by rote, precise, like organizing a tool box. Now, on my mothers birthday, her 61st and the first one I know of that he forgot until she reminded him, he sits down to practice, turns up the stereo, and plays along to B.B. King's "The Thrill is Gone." This after a week or more of coldness, arguments and marriage councillors. He plays it over and over, trying to get it right, to keep up with B.B.'s rhythm guitarist. He has never been much of one for tact. A few days ago my mother told me she didn't know if she could do it anymore. I told her, "Well, maybe you can't. But don't worry about that now." I forgot to tell her happy birthday too.