I remember summer 2008 when I spent a week in Manistee, MI with Uncle Jonny. Although being with my family made it an amazing week, watching Uncle Jonny struggle to put on his jacket and not be able to figure out how to eat a chicken finger really got to me. Seeing Uncle Jonny like this made me think where did he go? That’s not my Uncle Jonny in there. He almost felt like a different person. But then we put an African drum in his hand and like magic he was my Uncle Jonny all over again. I could sit on that deck singing Under the Boardwalk with him forever. When he sang, it was like I could see right through his sickness and see my Uncle Jonny like he used to be. It was those moments when the sun blazed down on us that I didn’t think about the fact that he didn’t remember my name, but that he remembered the lyrics to every song we sang. That was Uncle Jonny. That’s who he was and who he is. The musician.
Uncle Jonny showed me music is more than just a melody. Music is the way some one feels and the way someone can live even if they’re sick. I remember going to Ann Arbor when I was very young and sitting with Uncle Jonny as he played the piano. I remember sitting on the piano bench next to him watching his fingers fly across the keyboard. He would never play with sheet music, just the music inside of him flying out of his fingertips. I remember staring at his hands and when he stopped he would always say, “only the white keys, those are the beautiful ones.” He then told me to play and when I didn’t want to because I was shy and didn’t play the piano well he said, “you can never play a wrong note on this piano.” As the years went on and I got older and older I would watch him play and every time I’d try to see if he played a black key and he didn’t, and of course he never played a wrong note.
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