There was not a single piece of leather furniture that lacked an intricate map I had scratched into it with my grubby four-year-old fingernails. Every wall and flat surface had Sharpie murals of vast cotton candy skies and family trees made of dogs as soon as I discovered how to hold a pen. My parents never tried to stifle my creativity. They urged me to pursue artistry and offered every tool conceivable to develop my creative skills. Growing up hearing my father jam out on guitar and watching my mother lose herself painting silk (among the many other hobbies they both tend to), my inspiration never ran dry. They told me I could do anything I could put my eager mind to. Consequently, they raised a child with a very intractable disposition,
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It struck me that I was different from the kids around me, and I started growing slightly discontent with it. Puberty came, and I tried on a passion for sports in attempt to be more like my peers. I tried basketball, softball and track. I wasn’t terrible, but it took me four years to learn that there is no ‘I’ in team. I wasn’t one for forced coalitions, so I quit and went out for hobbies that better suit my introspective tendencies. Eventually, the fear of being weird wore off and I was open to trying new things, like theatre and dance. I started honing creative energy like I never had before when I won a guitar out of a drawing at the Tulsa Harmonica Festival in seventh grade that . It was challenging for me, and I felt that all the years I had spent studying classic rock ‘n roll, via long road trips with my dad, had finally paid off. By this time I had enough training in air guitar, and I felt like a rock star just holding the instrument of extreme AWESOMENESS. It was opportune timing as well! I had just moved from my tiny private school of three-hundred to Jenks (which has about nine-hundred per grade) and this guitar served as my only friend until I could figure out the ropes of socialization. Shortly after I had taught myself guitar, I began piano lessons. I would come home and rock out for hours, in the same special head space I had used as the four-year old Sharpie toting Rembrandt. Playing music became a part of my daily routine, along with brushing my teeth, and neglecting to brush my hair. I put my knack for storytelling to good use, and pretty soon I was churning out lyrics like Edgar Allen Poe on amphetamines. Like every young boy girl, I had dreamed of becoming a supreme rock star, able to retire at age forty-five. I knew my dream was far-fetched, but i didn’t care and I kept at
It struck me that I was different from the kids around me, and I started growing slightly discontent with it. Puberty came, and I tried on a passion for sports in attempt to be more like my peers. I tried basketball, softball and track. I wasn’t terrible, but it took me four years to learn that there is no ‘I’ in team. I wasn’t one for forced coalitions, so I quit and went out for hobbies that better suit my introspective tendencies. Eventually, the fear of being weird wore off and I was open to trying new things, like theatre and dance. I started honing creative energy like I never had before when I won a guitar out of a drawing at the Tulsa Harmonica Festival in seventh grade that . It was challenging for me, and I felt that all the years I had spent studying classic rock ‘n roll, via long road trips with my dad, had finally paid off. By this time I had enough training in air guitar, and I felt like a rock star just holding the instrument of extreme AWESOMENESS. It was opportune timing as well! I had just moved from my tiny private school of three-hundred to Jenks (which has about nine-hundred per grade) and this guitar served as my only friend until I could figure out the ropes of socialization. Shortly after I had taught myself guitar, I began piano lessons. I would come home and rock out for hours, in the same special head space I had used as the four-year old Sharpie toting Rembrandt. Playing music became a part of my daily routine, along with brushing my teeth, and neglecting to brush my hair. I put my knack for storytelling to good use, and pretty soon I was churning out lyrics like Edgar Allen Poe on amphetamines. Like every young boy girl, I had dreamed of becoming a supreme rock star, able to retire at age forty-five. I knew my dream was far-fetched, but i didn’t care and I kept at