From Guantanamera to Sunny

This post originally appeared on my Medium account on April 25, 2016 

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The machine sat in the corner, dark and silent most days.

It was ginormous to this little girl. So many letters and words on its face. I didn’t understand them all unless I pushed the buttons.

The buttons were magical. One letter, one number and the machine would speak to me.

No. It would sing to me.

The Chi-Lites, Wild Cherry, Beach Boys, Three Dog Night, Carole King, Stevie Wonder, The Carpenters, Chicago, The Delfonics, The Jackson 5, The Temptations, The Sandpipers…

*** Wait, The Sandpipers? Yes, I used to know all of the words to Guantanamera.***

That big, scary machine taught me music. This machine taught me to sing, laugh, cry, other languages even. I thought it was magical.

 

The machine was a jukebox that my oldest sister won at the state fair. I loved how I could press the buttons and it would spin until it found my song. A little arm (what I called it) when then come up and around, grab the little record and place it gently on the turntable.

What came next was my life-long love affair with music.

The music back then stirred something in me. I tapped into emotions of love, joy, humor, sadness, anger, broken-heartedness and through it all, there was passion.

Passion in music moves me. It helps me find the words that I cannot seem to utter in spoken form. I find who I am at my core when the passion of music plays.

I’ve become more discerning since my jukebox days. I don’t listen to just anyone. Perfect pitch is fine for some. Evoke passion and connection to the words of a song and I’ll bypass a flat or sharp note. Show me the words matter to you beyond the note on the page and I’m all in.

My sister still has that jukebox. I secretly hope she’ll give it to me one day (hint, hint, Big Sis). For it is from that machine that I learned to appreciate all genres of music. R&B, Pop, Rock, Folk, Country, Soul, Disco…I’ve grown to love music of all kinds.

Thanks to that machine…that once big, old, scary machine…I can sing. I sing to my Spotify playlist or to my Pandora station in the car. I sing when there are no words to speak.

To paraphrase perhaps the greatest song ever written — the title just so happens to be my namesake, “Sunny” by Bobby Hebb (Bias? ME???).

You gave to me your all and all

Now I feel ten feet tall

Music…I love you

When there’s a song named after you (in my world, it’s named after me specifically), you can’t go wrong with music. 

Music stirs my soul like nothing else. It completes me. 

UPDATE: I still don’t have possession of the jukebox, but music is still my love. And, after a long hiatus, I might start singing again. 

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Prayers Up, Knees Down,

Sunny