An Ode to the Family Band

Dear Michael, Alyssa, Marco, Michael and Alec:

I could chalk up our fickle fights, our boiling points, our cackled snickers, and our memorable one-liners to nothing less of a grandiose, boisterous band.

We bicker and bite and we break up. Then we get back together. And the best part is, we sing about it. We belt our stories, we wallow in the baritones, and then we harmonize in tranquility that the other person is sitting right there.

So, I’m taking the liberties to assign each person an instrument:

Michael you are the lead, electric guitar. True to its name it sets the standards, stands up front, and leads the way in an electrifying wave length with a ride to follow. Aggressive, fearless and unintentionally divine, the electric guitar pulses a room to be left speechless.

Alyssa with your gentle voice at times and brazen in others, you are the harmonizing violin. It takes a great statute, uncompromising loyalty, and an unobstructed view to power the bow which brushes soft horse hair against the coarse copper string. A high-pitched story made of simple sweet pleasures of remembrance and reminding.

Marco you are the the bass drum. Just between the music heightening and the crescendoing descend the bass drum booms and brings everyone back to earth. Subtle, indefinite, and always there; marching to the depth of the beat consumes.

Michael you are the rhythm guitar, the one that sits in front of a crimson crooner belting a ballad for the suckers for ballads. Quick minutes, late night strumming, early sun rising; the elegant mahogany wood shaped and tarnished just right to feed the hungry acoustics.

Alec you are the trumpet. Proclaiming wildly and declaring proudly, the sound of triumph invites all to listen and to see. Only the breath that bellows strong and secure can blow to and fro puncturing the sky.

I see myself as the piano. Off-key, on-key, pitched and dainty. A vivacious chord progression or delicate twinkles surrounding. Dancing fingers paint pictures and tell stories summoning the voices of ivory and string.

The core values of a 6-piece band consist of bawls and banters of sweet cheers; of pushing and falling, but always falling forward, together.

Together, we fracas and fray and fuse the noise together.

And even when the room is filled with silence just the same as when the room is swirled in a vehement din, there we are sitting together. The Family Band.