We eventually reach the end – or, near the end … close to it, perhaps within sight of it. The age-enlightening, gosh already, step over moment our grandparents told us would eventually come. That wrinkle line. The age we reach when people we love start passing away. When mentors, friends, relatives – huggables who influenced our lives in many ways – step smoothly over into forever and leave us with only pictures and memories. Good and great, they were.
Death happens. We know its unavoidability as our lives go about, worrying and praising the goods and bads happening around us. The unknown, post-life extravaganza wished for is gladly preached among many different variations of god-beliefs while some choose a once here-and-done mindset. Whatever the walkabout, life does end for a huggable – eventually – and those of us left must experience the loss. We have to. To grieve is a private peace and public proclamation of love for the life once lived.
Monday, I lost one of them. Our community lost one of them. A huggable. A music teacher unique among the many I had the pleasure of tooting and singing my way around. Mr. Foor had an excitement that blew through the trombone he gleefully gloshed while we sang Carpenter songs. In the days before SoundCloud, Twitter, and YouTube, he carted cassettes, records, and 8-track tapes on a rickety old cart room to room. Gladly and willingly, we put down our over-large pencils and wide-ruled paper to sing our hearts to the moon – forgetting the problems of eight-year old loves and forgotten homework.
He gave us our kid time. Our music time. Time to sing. Time to enjoy ourselves not knowing the genius, until later, of Karen Carpenter’s voice, or the absolute inanity of Neil Diamond (sorry folks, can’t stand the guy) …. 🤦🏻♂️. The joy of music he knew as time pushed forward and his career path weaved in and around the same school district. From elementary to high school, he continued to laugh his way into the souls of young musicians and shape the futures of us all.
I saw Mr. Foor frequently around town over the years as we bumped elbows sharing a common love of instant lottery tickets. To see him in line at a local convenience store wouldn’t be a surprise. We’d look at each other …. and laugh knowing the insanity of our minds. But, hey, we also knew, as fellow trombonists, our minds didn’t work normally. He was, simply, in my life a long time. And wonderfully so.
The end of this short post today is near. Just a reminder to live today as one of them. Live as one of those who others can smile about on that day when the wrinkles come slinking across the line. It’ll be here before you know it… just like grandma said. In the mean time, do me a favor: Sing a Carpenter’s song. Any one you choose. Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Mr. Foor loves you, anyway. RIP.
Sing.
Sing a song.
Sing out loud, sing out strong.
Sing of good things, not bad.
Sing of happy, not sad.
Sing.
Sing a song.
Make it simple to last your whole life long.
Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear.
Just sing.
Sing a song.
La La La La La La
La La La La La La
La La La La La La
Sing. Sing a song.
Let the world.
Sing out loud.
Sing of love there, could be.
Sing…
DougHugs 