Uncle Clyde (photo-inspired writing 1-21-14)

            It was always Uncle Clyde, Uncle Clyde the goofy, Uncle Clyde the loud one, Uncle Clyde whose clothes were too loose, and whose mouth was always talking, ‘cept when he was playin’ o’ course.

Uncle Clyde taught me how ta play too!

First it was the drums-

          2 sticks on the pot mamma used to keep the flour in. Quite a puffy mess o’ dust, but we played our hearts out. Mamma got so upset with Uncle Clyde when she saw my dress, my braids.. Uncle Clyde says he just wanted to teach me a music lesson. She shouted at him and marched him out the house waving her cooking spoon talking bout teaching HIM a lesson.

Next Uncle Clyde taught me the guitar, ooh Uncle Clyde sho could play, but how uncle clyde got 2 guitars was beyond me, he gave me one to tune

at first he says   “this one too espensive to be strumming on by a youngin”, I was only 4 or 5 at ta time, but Uncle Clyde says “sing me a song” an I’s sings the songs mamma taught me at church, and he shows me on his guitar, how he tune it, to the note, tightening, loosening singing the same line o’er and o’er.

Then he says “Now your turn” and I tune that E string right in ta O‘blivion.  The string broke! Uncle Clyde pull the guitar from my hands, Says “You too young” and I start crying.

He gets up and leave me on the step with my tears and my wailing…

          But sure enough the next day he brings that big ol’ guitar back around and says “Now your turn”

This time I sing my notes, like Uncle Clyde told me, I tune in on a perfect note, and Uncle Clyde holds it too, an then I slowly turn the knob, jus a bit at a time, pluckin the guitar, till it sound right.

Uncle Clyde say “Now that’s resonatin.”

And I look up and he got the biggest grin on his face he look me so deep in my eye, I about cry.

I ask him “what resonatin?” he goes “You dear… you”

Uncle Clyde start tearing up I think, but then he got up and left. I thought he was mad and went a wailing to mamma, but she tell me everything alright and that Uncle Clude jus sensitive, she says he’s an artist and aint no one understand the why and how of artists.

Uncle Clyde taught me drums, guitar, piano, violin, I was like a regular orchestra to him… an every time he got a new instrument he come round with a big ol’ grin and let me play it first.

I miss him,

I miss him a lot.

…Sometimes feels like a piece of me gone wit out him.

Like nothing’s tuned right.