When I was growing up, my family would go on long road trips to Florida. During one particular trip, I was seated in the middle of the back seat of our 1988 light blue Toyota Tercel, my hair in a short puff of orange curls. (Seriously, my hair could've passed as a clown wig.) Sitting on one side of me was my sister, Amy, who is 12 years older than me. On the other side was my cousin, Angie, who was two years younger than my sister. In the front seat was my sister's best friend, and in the driver's seat was my mom. It was a packed car, and I was an annoyance.
I was 3 at the time, and had the gift of gab. I never ran out of things to say, and I was very excited to get to Florida and meet the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! (On a side note, I met them, and my mom had to run after me when I ran after Michelangelo.) Because I was a gifted child, my ramblings were more along the lines of, "Let me name every country in the world," or describing the ancient Egyptian process of mummifying a body. My cousin attempted to gain some peace and quiet by handing over her Walkman, and my life changed.
This Walkman contained Queen's “Bohemian Rhapsody.” It was the most magical thing I had ever heard. It was otherworldly. It was superhuman. I would listen to it. Press stop. Hit rewind. Press play. Suffice it to say I played it so many times over that I melted the tape, and then I cried. When I got home, my dad did not hear the end of how much I loved Queen, at which point he pulled out some of his old records, as well as some concert footage he had recorded previously from MTV. I wanted the stage presence of Freddie Mercury. I wanted the guitar skills of Brian May.
My mom immediately set out to get me into vocal lessons. My sister’s high school choir teacher was happy to oblige. He asked if I might want to sing at the school’s large spring pops concert. I said, “OK.” He said, “There’re going to be a lot of people there.” I just shrugged. I belted out “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid in front of nearly a thousand people, center-stage, by myself, weeks after having turned four. Since that went so well, my parents decided that I could try piano lessons at age 4, drum lessons at age 8, and everything went from there.
Music wasn’t something I turned to because I had health issues. Music was my actual friend. Music was my companion. In elementary school, when I had to spend the day at home sick, I would flip through catalogs until I got to the mail-order CDs, where you ordered first and paid upon arrival. I remember once purchasing Pink Floyd’s The Wall, Bette Midler, Beethoven, Gershwin and Ace of Base all in one order. I would put my headphones on and pretend I was conducting a symphony.
None of this was the influence of my parents. My parents were athletic types. My sister was a three-sport varsity athlete.
The arts served as a home base for me. I was in theatre, dance, choir, and band. I used to sit in the courtyard of my high school and write songs whenever I got the chance.
The thing about music was that it was always so personal. I’ve always been very good at expressing myself when I’m happy, but at times when I am sad or frustrated, I just become blank and quiet. There’s something about the perfect stringing together of lyrics and the melancholy phrasing of music that I can connect with during these times. It helps me feel.
After my first major blood clot, I had problems with the grip strength on my left hand, and I couldn’t hold down the strings on the guitar that my parents had just gotten me. The strings on a ukulele are far easier to hold down since they are made of nylon, and that’s how I started playing. I played it while in the hospital to pass time and relieve stress.
At the 2011 Annual Meeting in Chicago, I brought my ukulele along. I knew that my friend Joe, along with fellow National Youth Leadership Institute (NYLI) member Travis, would bring their guitars. (If you were at all wondering what NYLI members do when we aren’t in meetings, well, now you know.) I think Travis and I played music for about three hours straight. It was definitely good fun. I was able to catch up with Travis recently to hear how he became involved in music, and how he feels it has impacted his life in dealing with having hemophilia.
Travis is the first to admit that he was the chubby, shy kid growing up, but music really changed his interactions with others. His first musical memories are of his mom playing oldies music in the car. One day, around the age of 8, Travis discovered a guitar his dad had stowed away. That’s where things changed for him. With a guitar in hand, he felt like a different person.
Socializing with others as a kid had been a point of anxiety for him. He never quite felt comfortable. During summers, he spent his time going to Camp Bold Eagle, a summer camp offered through the Hemophilia Foundation of Michigan. He noticed that when he played, he let his guard down and more kids came around. It allowed him to connect. In years to follow, he brought his guitar to camp, and even taught other campers how to play.
Music really became a focal point when Travis moved on to high school. He described an appointment at his HTC at which a list of multiple sports was crossed out in front of his eyes. It was hard to grapple with. Instead, he focused on other activities, such as marching band, jazz band, and pit orchestra for the school’s musicals.
Travis has a bass guitar, an electric guitar, his dad’s acoustic guitar, and a classical guitar. He volunteered this information after I told him about my recent banjolele purchase, because of which I haven’t yet been able to purchase a car. Travis is trying to save for a car as well, but a new acoustic guitar is taking priority right now. He doesn’t feel like his dad’s acoustic guitar is his, even though he has been playing it all these years. Can you tell that we are musicians?
That’s the thing that is so great about music: While it helped both Travis and me in different aspects of our lives, the main point is that it had an impact. Experiencing music grows with time. Music is always there to be freshly discovered. It can be set down for a time, and then picked back up again. Music will always wait for you. It’s even OK to melt a few tapes along the way.
Listen to Sami and Travis cover “Train Song” (originally written and recorded by Vashti Bunyan).