My bony fingers were stretched out next to Owens as I attempted to capture his concentration, "Its easy Owen" I cajoled, "E...D...A...D, E...D...A...D, just repeat those notes over and over. Its simple!"
My niece's youngest boy wasn't buying into "Uncle" Bill's musical instruction as I attempted to show him the rhythm line to "Gloria", one of the classic rock hits of all time, at least in this geezer's humble opinion. Owen's focus quickly shifted to a small black and white photo stuck in the corner of a guitar chord chart hanging on the wall directly behind the keyboard. "Who the heck is that, Uncle Bill?", he inquired innocently. I turned my gaze upward at the picture, gulped and made a grab for it.
The photo showed a dark-skinned native woman standing beside what appears to be a thatched hut. She is wearing some type of wrap-around cloth skirt while sporting a double stranded pearl necklace and holding a waist high banner declaring her to be; "Miss Bougainville". The semi-well endowed lady is also smoking a pipe and completely naked from the waist up. It is a souvenier from my fathers war time experiences and probably not something a third grader should be seeing but I had totally forgotten it was in my music room.
Two questions immediately flashed into my elderly, addled brain: One...how on earth do I explain this to Owen's parents, or worse yet...my wife? Two...do I make a big deal out of it or just act like its the most natural photo in the world? I chose the latter of the two actions but not before Owen's younger, first grade sister rattled off, "Why doesn't that lady have a top on Uncle Bill? Who is she? Can I see?!"
To the kids it was no big deal. I tried to explain how the picture was of a native woman on an island where the people didn't wear clothes because it was too hot and that Owen's great grandpa probably took it during World War Two a long, long time ago. Then I placed Miss Bougainville out of sight on top of my amplifier. Immediately, the crashing sounds of loud music and singing began to fill the air again. God bless their little hearts, innocence, and short attention spans.
Later on, before and after dinner I continued to marvel at Connor, Owen and Ellie's inquiring minds: Owen, upon spying several mourning doves pecking away at the ground beneath a bird feeder in front of our house, "Do...you...ever.., want to shoot those birds with a B.B. gun sometimes, Uncle Bill?" (Owen's dad is an avid wild game hunter and so are his boys). Ellie, on spying the long pointy fingernails on my right hand asks at least twice, "Why do you let your nails get so big, Uncle Bill?"
My answers are short and honest...no, I wouldn't shoot those birds because they are just hungry and...I keep my nails long Ellie so when I play the guitar they will make a nice sound on the strings. Then I show her how it works.
All too soon, they will gravitate toward other pursuits. The teen-age years will swiftly come calling, then its off to college, marriage and the drudgery of having to come to grips with jobs, paying bills and all the other nuisances that adulthood offers.
Like their elderly Uncle however, I hope they will at least be able to recreate that sweet joy of childhood when their own nieces and nephews come a callin some sunny Easter afternoon in springtime. Just before they get there "kids", be sure to scan your music room for unexpected surprises or at least be willing to answer their questions with complete honesty and most of all...love.
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