Pardon the Interlude: Life lessons in music



By Alexandria Sardam

This article is dedicated to the Allen family and my great uncle Joe.

My Tuesday was spent in Eastern Kentucky. My great uncle Joe passed away and we were there for the funeral. I had met him maybe once or twice, but those memories were about as blurry as my car windows that were fogged by the cold mountain air.

I felt a dose of nostalgia sweep over me as my unlaced boots made a thud against the wooden floorboards of the house that has been in my mom’s family for countless years. With each step I took came the distinct sound of weathered, creaking wood.

I made my way to the humble kitchen, full of gossiping women and rambunctious children—a scene far to familiar to someone acquainted with a large southern family. As I reached down for another piece of banana bread my ears perked up. It was a dusty recording of a harmonica.

It was Bob Dylan.

It’s those moments that might seem insignificant to some, but so full to me, that puts life into perspective.

Life is heavy. No, I take that back. Things that make up life are heavy, but life itself is so simple yet complexly unique.

And it’s in the moments that make us smile that define the beauty of life itself.

Apparently Uncle Joe left more of an impression on me after he left then while he was here. He loved music. And even though families are dysfunctional, I am grateful for one thing that my family has given to me.

Beyond the lessons, morals, hilarious family stories and recipes, I am forever grateful that my family instilled the love and power of music in me. Because without music, all of my family memories would be beautiful, but muted.

Music is more than just some notes. It’s an experience that completes who I am.