Memoir of a Musician With Wanderlust

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The memoirs of a musician with wanderlust

So I suppose I will start by telling you where the story starts. A small hospital in the Midwest July 9th,1948.
I was born and raised in that small town off of Lake Michigan. I used to go to that lake and spend the whole day there walking on the beach and swimming in the cool waves on a hot summers day. I would sometimes go there with my guitar and play while I sang. One time I accidentally left the case open and people stopped to listen when I finished some people through money in. It was then I knew this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Of corse I was only eleven and no one believed me, but I was sure. So I Began writing music, lyrics, art. When ever I wrote a new song would come to the lake and sit, my guitar case open and play. And somedays I was lucky and made a buck; one time I made a whole dollar and a half.

My parents were not pleased with my obsession with music. At first they humored me by listening to my songs but when i neared the end of my junior year i was sixteen and they thought they should put an end to my futile and irrational dream of being a musician. They thought I should focus more on my studies. They wanted me to be a nurse like my mother, and work in the hospital I was born at with my dad, Dr. Lawrence E. Roberts, and my mom, nurse Robbin M. Roberts. It was then I knew what I had to do; the year was 1964 I figured hell it was time I ran my own life.

So that year July 10th I left with the fifty dollars I had previously earned and saved up over the those last six years, and I left. I left a note telling them I'd write them when I could and I'd come back when I had found my self. I left the note on my bed, climbed out my window taking my guitar a...

... middle of paper ...

...under the tree it is about being with the people you love. And usually the people who love you the most you usually exchange gifts with. I realized my mom, dad and brother probably felt the same way I did. I bet my little brother Jimmy was probably crying that I wasn't there to read him a Christmas story and tell him Santa was coming soon. My mom was probably baking Christmas cookies alone because I wasn't there to help like I did every year. Dad was probably decorating the tree. I cried because I was so selfish to leave them. I knew they probably missed me and truth be told I missed them too. My wanderlust got the better of me so I left. I felt sorry for what I put them through, but as much as I felt bad and as sorry as I was I knew that I needed this I need to remember how important family was because I had almost forgotten. So that night I cried myself to sleep.

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