“Imagination” by Shawn Mendes, Friday, September 10, 2021
MAYBE THIS WILL BE THE NIGHT. Erasmus said in his magnum opus The Praise of Folly, "Everybody hates a prodigy, detests an old head on young shoulders." When Allan picked this line as a point of discussion in his senior philosophy seminar, none of the other students understood why. "Sure, we love to listen to Mozart, we like to see the Olympic athletes, but what about Justin Bieber?" There was a groan coming from across the table. "Think about it, why do people hate him so much? Sure, you want to change the station every time it comes on in the car, but there are bad songs and we get over it. What if it's because we're all just a little jealous. We think why not me?" Maybe the point was weak. Allan didn't really envy Justin Bieber's success at the time. However, five years after that contentious college point, he thought about Shawn Mendes, the tall and handsome sixteen year old boy who became YouTube famous, capturing the hearts of his teenage girl viewers. Baby-faced, dimpled chin, guitarist who wasn't particularly skilled--Mendes's success didn't sting Allan as much as the Shawn Mendeses that he went to high school with, that his music teacher had put every effort into to make him a star. Why Shawn Mendes, and not Allan Joshua Miller? Why Kaleb Mason and not Allan? The hours he had invested into cultivating the relationship with his music teacher. When Mrs. Porter got sick, she needed help around the yard. It started out as a barter system: music lessons for time spent on various tasks, mowing, hedge clipping, pool maintenance. At first Mrs. Porter was made good on her word. However, as her health started deteriorating, lessons got shorter, yet the list of chores grew longer. But as he worked, Allan told himself that it was only a matter of time that Mrs. Porter would let him pick up the Wildkat, exploring the neck of the hollow-bodied beauty. He would hear the latest news about Kaleb, in Nashville, recording his debut record. Maybe, with his faithfulness to his music teacher, she could unlock the gates of Nashville to him, too.
YOU WALK BY MY HOUSE; I WANNA CALL OUT YOUR NAME. In Allan’s junior year, Mrs. Porter’s condition had not improved. Her youngest son, Shawn, reluctantly took the now frail-looking woman to all of the university hospitals in the Southeast. Each doctor said something different. Mrs. Porter claimed that the disease was hiding when the doctors looked for it. When the fall began, there was less yard work and Mrs. Porter started giving lessons as she could; however, she often had to cancel with Allan. However, in late September, she offered Allan a job: he could teach her beginner guitar students. Allan had been teaching a few students to pick up extra money at his home, but if he accepted Mrs. Porter's offer, she would pay him $50 a month per student that he taught. "It sure beats flippin' burgers," she said with the remnant of her Philly accent. "But if you do this, I want you to start studying piano because that's where the real money is." So, rather than putting efforts into fitting in at Mern Christian High School, his goal from the last year, he shifted to hours of practice--mostly piano. His desire to climb the neck, to shred like Jimmy Page or Joseph Milligan, would have to wait. "For every 20 guitar students you get, maybe one will stick around as long as you have, Allan," Mrs. Porter said a few times both before and after he started taking piano students. Little by little, Allan had become invaluable to the old woman. Before going home late at night, he would come up stairs from the basement studio where he had his music lessons and say good night to Mrs. Porter who usually had dozed off in her chaise after her last lesson for the day. "I'm so proud of all that you've accomplished. I'm so blessed to have my Kaleb in Nashville and Allan teaching my students."
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