Life is Like a Circle

Back in the early 1970s I took up playing the trumpet in the David Prouty Junior High School band. I caught on quickly, but soon got bored. The school band practiced the same tunes over and over – not much variety nor much of a challenge.

Band music does not lend itself to good solo pieces either. I could not play the whole tune, just bits of melody here and there. I would play a certain musical phrase followed by an infinite number of rests, then another musical phrase. And that was if I was lucky enough not to have a harmony part.

Harmony parts are not very melodic and when practiced at home sound a lot like a howling coyote. In theory, when all these howling coyote parts from other band members are put together, they should make a nice sounding whole. But that theory was little consolation to this junior high kid who thought he lived in the fast lane and believed Al Hirt was his equal. When the Tijuana Brass didn’t show up at my door asking me to replace Herb Alpert, well, my interest in music started to wane.

To keep my interest up, my mother bought me several “all-time favorite” (melody only) books specifically written for the trumpet. There was just one problem with these books: I didn’t know whose favorites these were, but they certainly weren’t mine.

One particular song, which was found in just about every music book ever published in the 70s was “The Impossible Dream” by the songwriting team of Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion. I detested that song. Maybe because it was my mother who, while working around the house doing her daily chores, would sing “To dream the impossible dream, la, la, la, la, la, la, de, dah,” and then repeat is several hundred times.

Not only did she not know the words, but she couldn’t even hum the melody. Then she would have the audacity to ask me to take out my trumpet and play her the song so she could just “la de dah” along and sing out the phrase “To dream the impossible dream” every spot it was supposed to come up.

These two howling coyotes definitely did not make a whole. I was starting to see why book burning became popular in certain circles.

Eventually my mother gave up asking me to play the song and she fell in love with other tunes that I felt were more bearable, but luckily not in my “all-time favorite” books.

Later, during my early years of high school, my parents started to expose my sisters and me to some culture outside of our little town. On one such adventure they brought us to the musical The Man of la Mancha. This was a totally unheard-of musical to any high school kid. “Great,” I thought, “another Oklahoma, Music Man, or some other dreadful Sunday afternoon oldie-type special.”

After arriving at Mechanics Hall and looking over the program, I saw that The Man of La Mancha was about Don Quixote. From my very limited experience with Don Quixote, mostly obtained from watching Mr. Magoo cartoons on Saturday mornings, I knew he was a senile old man and that somehow he had a relationship with a windmill.

The play started and I must admit, it was quite good. Don Quixote was a man who fought the good fight – even if it was mostly in his imagination. Through his insurmountable folly, this senile old man put on makeshift armor at a time when knight errantry was dead and tried to single-handedly revive the old tradition of chivalry. Along the way windmills became giants, roaming minstrels became enchanters, and roadside inns became castles.

In all his actions, Don Quixote was a paragon of wisdom and an endless source of righteousness – however warped his view may have appeared. At the height of his misfortunes, he still would not deny his integrity.

In our own daily lives, it seems that every time we turn around someone wants something from us, or another injustice has taken place in the world. Battles with “city hall” and the everyday compromises in relationships can leave us drained and a little cynical. Then there was Don Quixote who never stopped trying to make the world a better place. But it was toward the middle of the play when Don Quixote’s unaffectionate love, Aldonza, starts chewing him out for his odd behavior that it all came together like a perfect fitting puzzle. She asked him what his quest was. Don Quixote answers by singing “The Impossible Dream.” At that moment I fell in love with the song. It made so much sense.

I looked at my mother who was mouthing the words. My eyes started to water, and I did all I could just to keep from bawling in front of my parents and the rest of the audience.

Many years have passed since those days, but the memories are as vivid as if it happened yesterday. Recently I received an Elvis Presley compact disc. It is a live recording from Madison Square Garden, June 10, 1972. On it he sings “The Impossible Dream.”

When that song comes on, I find myself turning the volume up. A lot. Like really a lot. My kids will walk into the room and shout at me to turn the volume down. It hurts their ears. They tell me they don’t even like the song!

In a small way this part of my mother has come full circle and now rests with me. It is something that has made me a little more human. It is a ray of hope in this world. Maybe someday my children, too, will understand and grow and complete the circles we’ve started. In the meantime, I’ll just lie here on the couch, close my eyes and sing with Elvis: “To dream the impossible dream, la, la, la, la, da, de, dah…”

The original version of Life is Like a Circle was published in the Spencer New Leader, May 31, 1995. It has since been edited to its current form.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Photo dates: August 2008, June 2020 (with Jackson), May 2021 (with Madi).