A Rant In Reverse
In a departure from the usual post on Inspirational music, today I’d like to tell you about a kid I just met.
Kids!
I don’t know what’s wrong with these kids today!
Kids!
Who can understand anything they say?
Kids!
They are disobedient, disrespectful oafs! (more…)
Pete, with Wildcats hat – Summer before Link's Leopards
Putting Inspirational music aside for the moment, I’d like to recount still one of the most inspirational stories of my life. This blog is about ALL things Inspirational, so here goes…
The Glendale Wildcats were suddenly defunct. It was April and I was in the 6th grade. Baseball was my life.
The St. Louis Cardinals with Stan Musial as its Hall of Fame player were my passion, but the Glendale Wildcats was the Little League team I had played on the summer before.
The Wildcats had lost their sponsor and that meant no team, no baseball for the summer — an impossible situation to face for a 6th grader. (more…)
As a teacher, a parent, and inspirational music composer, I am conscious of this subtle line of demarcation between the undesirable and the desired. It moves and waves from case to case, from situation to situation. It requires complete consciousness to keep it in control.
I want to be feared by no one – not even my worst enemy. If I am feared then I truly am an enemy. If I am respected then the enmity disappears and the relationship between constituents is in balance. Cross the line and welcome in the beginnings of war.
I’m deeply inside a great novel at the moment – the kind that when you read it, sometimes you lose track of which reality is real, yours or the novel’s. I spent long hours this past weekend deep into the drama of this book that I remember reading back in the 7th grade and loving. I’m loving the re-read even more now.
Anyone looking for a little Inspiration during these times of recession and budgetary restrictions would do themselves a favor by picking up this charming and most well-written story and diving into it.
A Tree Grows In Brooklyn is a novel by Betty Smith first published in 1943. It relates the coming-of-age story of its main character, Francie Nolan, and her Austrian/Irish-American family in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York City. The novel is set in the first and second decades of the 20th century. The book was an immense success, a nationwide best-seller that was distributed to servicemen overseas. It was also adapted into a popular motion picture, the first feature film directed by Elia Kazan.
Many of my favorite humans have been teachers. When I look back on my life, pre-Watchfire Music, the people pinnacles were often the teachers, on one level or another, who came through my life and left some precious knowledge or life-lessons behind.
They weren’t always the easiest experiences in life, but were certainly the most rewarding. Some of these include the obvious and some are a bit surprising now that I think on it.
If you missed the first part of this series, go to The Spirit of Christmas – Part 1
Christmas Eve
As a Sunday School teacher for some 25 years, I used to tell my kids, “Thanksgiving is not about eating turkey, Easter is not about the Easter bunny and Christmas is not about Santa Claus.” As hard as those lessons were to get across to a young boy, my parents, Dolly and Lyman, worked constantly to instill the proper concepts in both my brother and me.
I think, remembering back, that they were both pretty smart about it. In the build of anticipation towards Christmas morning, they kept Christmas Eve as the sacred occasion. It was not a night of opening presents, usually just one and that one a boring one like socks from Nana or underwear from Uncle Dick. There was always last minute wrapping involved, but always, the greater portion of the evening was spent discussing or exploring the true meanings of Christmas.
The birth of Jesus was not forgotten. It was my mom who made sure of this. We were not allowed to go out to parties and out with our friends. This was a family night and a night for only family. I never minded this. It was just the way it was done. Besides, I loved being with my family. My brother was my hero, my mom was always my best friend and my dad was, well… Dad. They were always enough.
If you missed the first part of this series, go to The Spirit of Christmas – Part 1
Christmas Morning
As a boy, going to sleep Christmas Eve and waking up Christmas morning were always agonizing. First of all, it was impossible to get to sleep at night knowing that Santa would soon be coming down the chimney, and then the slightest noise or light would wake me up way too early several hours later and I would lie there in agony waiting for Mom and Dad to rise – usually early for them around 6:30 AM.
My brother, Jim, and I were not allowed to place one foot out of the bed on Christmas morning until Mom and Dad “woke” us and OK’d our rising. Then teeth were brushed, beds were made and robes were donned with hearts a’pounding as Dad would be the first to go downstairs and put on the Christmas music and announce with great surprise that, in fact, it looked like Santa had been there a few hours before.
I was always in the bathroom first before Jim and then had to wait the interminable wait for him to brush. I swear he took more time than usual just to drive me crazy. Then I learned to play my little game with myself.
We had a two story cathedral-roofed living room with a small balcony on the second floor overlooking the living room big enough for maybe 3 people to stand. If I were to stand there Christmas morning and look down upon our Christmas tree I would be able to see stacks of presents, perhaps a new bike with bow, perhaps a new addition to my drum set and definitely the whole shebang.
If you missed the first part of this series, go to The Spirit of Christmas – Part 1
Blue Ribbon Christmas
I grew up in an upper-middle class family in Kirkwood, Missouri living in a beautiful stone house with a green tile roof a half a block from Greenbriar Hills Country Club. Our back yard, beyond our lilac bushes, was the 11th fairway of the golf course where in the summer, we played baseball till it was so dark that the ball was lost the minute you hit it into the outfield. In the fall the golf course became the perfect football field and in winter the snow on the golf course hills made the tobogganing wild and wooly.
Most of the homes in Greenbriar were situated on the golf course and the community was close, friendly and laid back. I prided myself in knowing the family names of the people in every house in Greenbriar.
Peter Link, Creative Director of Watchfire Music, is the author of this blog. We'll be looking at all things inspirational, especially music. Read on and find out more about Inspiration on Planet Earth and beyond. And... you can also find out more about Peter at his personal Web site and also on the "About Peter Link" page below.
