August 24, 2009

Ryan's Song

His name was Ryan, and he was not the most popular guy in the group. He was a big country boy with big farmer arms and a big farmer face, the kind of kid some people might call a "bumpkin." On this particular day he was outnumbered nine to one by street smart city kids.

We were sitting in a circle on a dimly lit stage in the maximum-security WJ Maxey Boys Training School for incarcerated young men, working on a collaborative song about a guy who is, coincidentally, being released after serving time in a maximum-security facility.

This was one of the first Lost Voices sessions ever, and Josh White, Jr. and I were figuring out how we might translate the thoughts and poetry of these troubled kids into original folk and blues music. The process was working well, but it was intense almost beyond belief.

We were taking a break to catch our breath when Ryan spoke up, "I wrote a poem in my room last night. It's about this one time when my uncle took me fishing. Do you want to hear it?" We did. He began to read.

It's early morning, down at the lake
Me and my fishing gear
All of my worries, and all of my cares
Just seem to disappear.

Talking 'bout a young boy's dream
Walking by the side of a stream
Thinking about the good times
That's good fishing, all the time.

As Ryan read, I could hear those words bouncing along in a happy John Denver kind of song. Key of D for sure. I started playing it and a smile lit up Ryan's face. Josh joined in with harmony when we got to the chorus, and Ryan's grin went nuclear.

At the end of the program there was a concert, in which the boys went on stage with us to perform the songs we had written. As the concert approached Josh and I asked Ryan if he wanted us to sing his song for him, or if he was willing to sing it himself. We like to challenge the kids, but we try to be careful not to push them into doing anything they are not comfortable with. "I want to sing it myself," he said, "Maybe with a little help from you and Josh!"

And then came the moment in the concert when I introduced Ryan and invited him up to the microphone. There was a good-sized audience, several hundred people. Virtually every kid in the facility was there, plus most of the teachers, the staff, and a bunch of VIP strangers. The spotlights were just bright enough to make us want to squint, but not bright enough to hide all those people.

Ryan's face was frozen in a mask of dread as he stepped forward and I strummed the pick-up chords. I learned several weeks after the fact that in that moment he was dealing with a lot more than simple performance jitters. It seems that a number of the guys who did not care too much for country boys, especially bumpkins named "Ryan," had promised to "tear him up" if he tried to perform.

But still Ryan stepped forward.

When he started to sing, fear had such a stranglehold on his throat that the words were just barely able to squeeze past vocal chords stretched tight with terror.

But still, Ryan started to sing.

When we got to the chorus, the audience began to clap along – a few of them at first, then more, and finally the whole room, clapping and stomping in time. Ryan's paralysis dissolved, and his voice got stronger as he sang verse after verse about that magic morning when he went down to the lake and caught himself a Smallmouth bass.

And then we found ourselves at the end of the song. Ryan stood in the center of the stage grinning that big old country boy grin as the audience – including the anti-bumpkin contingent – gave him and his song a standing ovation.

Talk about a young boy's dream.
 

What I've Learned So Far... by Mike Ball is a syndicated feature distributed exclusively by North Star Writers Group. If you enjoy this work, please contact your local newspaper's editors and ask them to carry it.

                     
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