Ached so much that I bought a cheap one to release this stress. As I remembered learning to play, I quickly realized that this purchase was also a step towards grieving the passing of my favorite music teacher of ten years who taught me how to sing, play piano, and encouraged my love of music. I still have my piano book from taking lessons with him. That night, I broke down in tears because I was flipping through my old piano lesson book and saw the marks he left on one of my assignments which reminded me of the marks he'd leave on our quizzes when we had to memorize lyrics and write them out. That exact 100% in red ink…
Music has literally kept me alive. That's just what it is. I took those piano lessons with my best friend too, so there's this memory of sharing music with whom I share everything already. Sharing a bench, an experience, a gift. It's been five years, going on six, since Mr. Kelly's passing, but it feels like yesterday I heard the news on my twenty-third birthday.
In that classroom after school, on that bench touching shoulders with my A1 from day 1, I had a place to be who I always wanted to be. Before then, I could only dream of taking lessons to learn an instrument, and had my instructor not offered lessons on the side for extra income, that dream could’ve very well still been unrealized. And even if I did take lessons elsewhere, nothing could beat first experiencing the piano with the one who has shown me over the years just how the piano could sing. For years and years, Mr. Kelly composed instrumentals of popular songs for us to sing along to, and in the mornings during Devotion, he played the melody of “Lift Ev’ry Voice”, we called it the “Negro National Anthem”, to guide us and keep the tempo.
A sense of belonging...that triggers another memory of participating in a special chorale choir at school. It was an extracurricular activity, which at the time I didn't think of it like that, because it was a privilege to be invited to join the special chorale. I was one of the original members along with some of my closest friends, and we would sing all around town and once even on TV! We sang at universities, a factory, during parades, and even the national anthem at our city's basketball games!
Even outside of the special chorale, every year we would have programs. The Christmas Program, Black History Month Program and my absolute favorite (with the Christmas program as a close second), the Spring Musical. For the spring musical, we would often dress in white or easter attire and we would sing our hearts out. It was the last program of the year, so there was this excitement for the school year to soon come to an end. I had the honor of singing one solo during one of the Spring Musicals for “Love Train” by the O’Jays. My parents would play oldies like that when they cleaned the house, so when Mr. Kelly first played the song in class to introduce us to the tracklist for the musical, I was the only one singing the verses while everyone else only knew the chorus. And from there, the solo became mine!
But my favorite part of all the musicals and all the performances was watching Mr. Kelly dance and direct us, his bald head gleaming and glistening with sweat. Smiling and shining. Lord, I miss him so much. Thinking about it, I had three strong families growing up. My nuclear family, my school family, and my church family. And one thing that threaded through them all was...music. A lot of the same songs too and singing with others in communion. I sang in the car with my parents or on Saturday mornings while cleaning. Sang with the congregation during praise and worship at church. Before I was born I felt the vibrations of praise and worship in the womb. (That's why I believe I enjoy "feeling" music, like the vibrations that the instruments, usually bass, makes. It's so comforting.)
I sang with my classmates regularly, with the entire school daily (we sang the “Negro National Anthem” nearly every morning), and with my best friends every so often in Chorale. Music was a class we had about twice a week. It was the only class where we had a different teacher from all of our other subjects. Sometimes the school administrator would teach chapel, and for a stint we had a science and a history teacher, but they never lasted more than a year, if even that. But music class? For all ten years, Mr. Kelly taught that class and we all loved it.
I hope to learn all the songs in that lesson book in his honor. That is my next project. I sing in Mr. Kelly's honor and I play the piano in his honor. Always.
Now, I am remembering “Lift Ev’ry Voice". That song I sang everyday as a child and now, each time I sing it as an adult it strikes me deeply in my heart. The opening alone: Lift every voice and sing till Earth and Heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of liberty. Let our rejoicing rise high as the listening skies. Let it resound loud as the rolling seas…
My God. Imagine how that sounds when a whole group sings it? It’s so beautiful and an ancestral prayer when backed by Mr. Kelly’s magic on the keys. Looking back, in addition to the words of encouragement and the prayers and pledges we recited each day, that school infused us with the prayers and tools we needed to not only survive this world, but to fight for what was just within it.
I’d love to learn to play that on the piano as well in time. To combine these two parts of this prayer in harmony. To remember unity as our school anthem declared:
“United we stand, divided we fall.
If we believe, we can do it all!”
Rest in Harmony, Mr. Kelly.
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