My Friday Routine

Today is Friday; the sign of another work, or school-week, coming to a close. I enjoy Fridays just as much, if not more, than any other person, but it just might be for a different reason.  You see, every Friday when I’m out of school, I head south around lunch time towards a little town called Sparta.  I grab a bite to eat and then make my way towards a little storefront with guitar in tote.  My destination is Wildwood Music. It is Sparta, Missouri’s largest (and only) music shop/recording studio.  There I am met with several smiling faces averaging 50+ years older than me.  The owner of the shop is a local songwriter and has entertained many throughout the area for many years, and will sing and play the guitar or fiddle as long as anyone is there to listen.  It is not uncommon for me to stay three or four hours and most of that time is filled with him singing original songs as well as covers of his favorite old country tunes.  I enjoy listening more than playing, so I usually perch somewhere towards the back and lightly strum on my guitar while melodies, harmonies, and twin fiddles make the small shop come alive.  

My dad’s side of the family has always been heavily involved in music, and without a doubt that is where I get what little musical talent I have.  My grandpa on that side of the family played guitar, sang, and at one point even emcee’d the Four Star Opry, a local radio music show in Springfield for a couple of years in the late 60's.  

He loved to sing and always had a way of making people laugh.  I enjoy country or bluegrass music as much, and probably more, than anyone, but the actual music isn’t really what draws me to this little music shop every Friday.  

We lost my grandpa in December of 2017 after years of making wonderful memories; several of which involving music.  So when I go and get to know these 70-90 year old men, it feels like I have a shadow with me.  Not a dark, negative shadow, but more like a light that fills the shop to my eyes. That light, I believe, is my grandpa.  If he were still here and able, I know without a doubt that every Friday I’d be picking him up to go play and sing.  That is something he would enjoy more than just about anything.

I like to sit back and let my mind wander to see him in each person there, strumming on the guitar. Every once in a while, someone will sing and I swear it sounds exactly like him.  I can’t help but stop and laugh because I think, “he just couldn’t help but chime in.”  

I’ve missed him every day that he’s been gone, but I am lucky that in my mind, I get to spend every Friday afternoon with him doing something he loved to do most.