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My Thanksgiving

In News on novembre 18, 2016 at 12:14 PM

First time I saw a drum set was at my dear friend Silvana’s, where we used to hang, a handful of teens. A minimal kit was settled in the middle of the room she shared with her older brother. I didn’t know him except for hearsay or pictures but  I knew he was a drummer.
Though he (Emilio) was never home none of us kids  ever dared to touch his drums.
Until once, at noon, I was shortly left alone in the room and felt attracted and so curious about that thing… so I sat  on the wooden stool – I swear -my arms crossed, without touching anything, almost deferential and quite confused; suddenly the door opened and Emilio stepped in.
I froze, I shouldn’t have been there, I was cought!
That panic thrill vanished as soon as that older boy –even older than my older brother- talked to me like this: “What’s up, do you like that? Want to try? Let me show you how”. He meant how to play “Rock 1”, wich seemed actually very easy but  my coordination failed anyway and I felt so ashamed and clumsy and I istantly left.
Later, at home, I tried again and again, slower, hands on lap, stomping my foot…

After a few weeks Emilio lent me a couple of old drums, a pair of sticks, then he taught me rudiments, rhythmic reading, writing drum scores, gave me copies of his fusion records,  drove me to the first electric jazz concert of my life and, after I earned some money, took me to buy a real drum kit, used but so beautiful. He took such a good care of me, than he patted me on the shoulder and said “It’s time to go”: I grew up and I was supposed to walk a different path.
But I did not, instead.
Many years went by, I’m still here, my life has changed forever.
I can’t explain about wideness and depth of gratitude I feel to Emilio Pizzocoli,
I owe him love and such many meanings.

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