Austin Hafner
English 1100
Strumming the Strings of My Heart
I am currently back at my old house on Jonquil street. The kitchen had become a wasteland and my Mother was feverishly upset. I was only nine or ten years old, but I understood something had gone horribly wrong. Minutes later, the front door squeaks open. It was my Father, coming home from another arduous day of work as a plumber. “He’s back home from work already?” I thought quizzically. Once my Mother saw her husband stepping inside the doorway, she swiftly moved towards him with a trickle of tears painted over her face. I wondered what could have been the explanation behind this sadness, but none of them ever spoke of it. However, I do remember something my Father told me on that strange night that stuck with me ever since. As I was passing my Father on my way to bed, he stopped me dead in my tracks, looked me in the eyes and said, “Son, don’t ever be a plumber.” I always remembered those words, promising myself that I would work tirelessly on my education and set goals for myself so that I could live without the despondency my parents had expressed that evening.
Consumed by my Father’s words, I pressed for excellence year after year. The thought of failure drove me so deep into madness that, by the time school came around, I was not myself anymore. Schoolwork had control over my mind the same way that a bicycle chain has control over the actual bike. I could not function properly knowing that I had assignments due and tests I needed to study for in advance. Once I realized this, it became apparent to me that the weight of my Father’s words had molded an unhealthy obsession for success, leading me away from a normal social life with the ones who loved me. Often times, I can still recall my Mother’s sensitive voice ringing in my ears, calling out to me while trapped within the walls of fear and chained to the shackles of failure.
Although the years leading towards my senior of high school created many challenges and rough times, I was convinced that all my strenuous work would pay off in the end. Unfortunately, my valiant efforts would not be enough to help pay for any of the colleges I wanted to go to. Starring aimlessly at this disturbing fact, I became increasingly more perplexed. How could I have let this happen? I had worked audaciously, throughout the years, to achieve excellence. Could it have all been for nothing? Slowly but surely, I could feel my soul swirling down a spiral of vast emptiness. The worst unimaginable outcome had now become true: I was a failure, not just in my eyes, but in my Father's as well. Soon enough I would be the one taking over plumbing duties after my old man’s retirement, never to attain the kind of success he always wanted for me.
As I finished pondering, there was an urge to write these thoughts somewhere. Moments after opening up a blank page in my red Five-Star binder with a pencil in hand, the words were coming to me. “Pieces of my heart burning down,” I spoke softly to myself. “And memories fall like ashes to the ground.” Silence dawned on me for a moment before I realized what I was writing was more than just words on lined paper, they were lyrics. I promptly dashed for the guitar, strummed a C chord and began to notice an unusual stirring occur inside myself. The emptiness was fleeting. I could feel my face being overcome with elatedness. My soul was filled by some angelical spirit, as if there were someone out there who knew my pain and healed me with words of affirmation. When all I wanted to do was give up, someone or something was telling me to never give up. Even in hard times I should be hopeful, never looking back on my mistakes that have already come and gone. I am blessed to have had those words written down from that experience because they serve as a reminder for me to always keep my head up when life is beating me down.
Although the years leading towards my senior of high school created many challenges and rough times, I was convinced that all my strenuous work would pay off in the end. Unfortunately, my valiant efforts would not be enough to help pay for any of the colleges I wanted to go to. Starring aimlessly at this disturbing fact, I became increasingly more perplexed. How could I have let this happen? I had worked audaciously, throughout the years, to achieve excellence. Could it have all been for nothing? Slowly but surely, I could feel my soul swirling down a spiral of vast emptiness. The worst unimaginable outcome had now become true: I was a failure, not just in my eyes, but in my Father's as well. Soon enough I would be the one taking over plumbing duties after my old man’s retirement, never to attain the kind of success he always wanted for me.
As I finished pondering, there was an urge to write these thoughts somewhere. Moments after opening up a blank page in my red Five-Star binder with a pencil in hand, the words were coming to me. “Pieces of my heart burning down,” I spoke softly to myself. “And memories fall like ashes to the ground.” Silence dawned on me for a moment before I realized what I was writing was more than just words on lined paper, they were lyrics. I promptly dashed for the guitar, strummed a C chord and began to notice an unusual stirring occur inside myself. The emptiness was fleeting. I could feel my face being overcome with elatedness. My soul was filled by some angelical spirit, as if there were someone out there who knew my pain and healed me with words of affirmation. When all I wanted to do was give up, someone or something was telling me to never give up. Even in hard times I should be hopeful, never looking back on my mistakes that have already come and gone. I am blessed to have had those words written down from that experience because they serve as a reminder for me to always keep my head up when life is beating me down.
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