My Story 5.3

5,3

While I was on the farm towards the end of the war, I almost always carried my harmonica with me. Remember I was only 12 years old. One morning I was up early and I went out to the field where they kept the horses. I sat down and began to practice.

A little over a year earlier, on my birthday I had asked for a harmonica. I was promptly turned down because this would be the source of more noise in the house. My aunt, however took my side and suggested that maybe this, the least of all musical instruments, would uncover a great musical talent. So, behind the "Grote Kerk" was a little store named "Hogenbijl", marketing musical instruments of all kinds, and I picked out my harmonica.

The horses, about six of them, responded to my "talent" and formed a semi circle on the other side of the ditch. That was the first time I remembered playing for an audience. Six horses! And in the distance was a black horse, on the other side of the field, who made no effort to come closer. Well even among horses there are individuals that don't appreciate talent. When I got back to the farm I told the farmer, Alte Oosten, about the horses and that the black one that refused to come. "That horse is just not musical", I observed. "Just the contrary", Alte replied, "that is the most musical horse I got, he just refused to listen to your crap." Well, maybe so , but he sure was alone in his opinion. I have often thought about this. To be too critical may very well isolate you from the others. And I have often felt like that black horse.

A little more then twenty years later Trudy picked up the autoharp and began to sing in church and old folks homes. I soon joined her, playing the bass guitar. We wrote many of our own songs, providing in my opinion a temporary high in the art of songwriting, and home music. Unfortunately the next generation joined the black horse.