Tag Archives: childhood

Child of Sorrows

For my songwriting class at CSULA, we have to write a different kind of song each week. This week, Da Blues.

Here it is. My staggeringly white attempt to write the blues. I had to resist the urge to make the whole song about this time I ordered a Chai Tea Latte at Starbucks, but got a Soy Latte instead. Oh Lord, why must I suffer.

Child of Sorrows

UPDATE
Finished it, here’s the full demo:
Child of Sorrows – Final

Child of Sorrows

I am a child of sorrows
The Good Lord won’t let die
I am a child of sorrows
The Good Lord won’t let die
Lord knows I’ve been trying
With whiskey and with rye
But I ain’t done suff’ring yet


I am a child of money
But that don’t mean a thing
I am a child of money
But that don’t mean a thing
She kicked me out at 17
And I ain’t seen her since,
Oh I ain’t done suff’ring yet


I married a good woman,
And you know I turned her bad
I married a good woman,
And you know I turned her bad
The joy I took away from her
Is the only joy I’ve had
Oh I ain’t done suff’ring yet


I went to see the preacher
About my heart of sin
I went to see the preacher
About my heart of sin
Well he looked me up
And he looked me down
And he kicked me out again
Said I ain’t done suff’ring yet,
No I ain’t done suff’ring yet,
Well I ain’t done suf’ring yet.

If These Old (Condo) Walls Could Speak

At this moment, in the adjacent room, my children are enjoying their final naps in our current residence. This evening, they will be driven by yours truly to Irvine, where there will be a hand-off to Grandma and Grampa, who will take them home with him to San Diego, where they will enjoy a leisurely weekend.

While they are gone, their mother and I will continue furiously sorting, trashing, and packing all of our worldly belongings in preparation for an actual move this coming Sunday. When they are returned to us, we will be in our new place.

Now, the funny thing is that we’re still the owners of our current residence, and there’s a fair chance we might actually come to live here again, once The Dailies gets firing on all cylinders. In the meantime, renters will subsidize our extravagant, luxurious lifestyle.

I’m terribly sentimental today. They were both brought here directly from the hospital. They both learned to walk and talk and think (a little bit) here in this 1000 square feet. They learned about family and cartoons, and migratory ducks, and looking both ways before crossing the street, and asking nicely for a glass of water, and that they like the silicone binkies, and not the rubber ones.

I believe the reason that I am sentimental is that I know that these memories will be mine and Erica’s alone, as we don’t often recall our memories from prior to age four, and certainly not from fifteen months. The memories that they will take from their childhood have yet to begin. This place will be a place they are forced to visit whenever mom and dad want to stroll down memory lane.

I believe Amy Grant has made one truly great record in her career, 1988′s Lead Me On. I still listen to this album from time to time, and marvel at how well it has aged, save an inevitable case of Late 80′s Big Snare. Near the beginning of the B-side, there’s a little piano ballad called, If These Walls Could Speak. The lyrics capture my day perfectly.

Before I leave you with the lyrics lemme tell you this: do yourself a favor today, and grab your kids, or your spouse, or your girlfriend or boyfriend, or brother or sister, and even a friend, and embrace them. Remember how their hair smells. Take a mental snapshot of them standing in the foyer or sitting in their favorite chair. Listen to and appreciate the timbre of their voice, the word choices, and the phrasing. Change is coming, always.

If These Walls Could Speak

Written by Jimmy Webb

If these old walls,
If these old walls could speak
Of the things that they remember well,
Stories and faces dearly held,
A couple in love
Livin’ week to week,
Rooms full of laughter,
If these walls could speak.

If these old halls,
If hallowed halls could talk,
These would have a tale to tell
Of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
And children playing at hide and seek
From floor to rafter,
If these halls could speak.

They would tell you that I’m sorry
For being cold and blind and weak.
They would tell you that its only
That I have a stubborn streak,
If these walls could speak.

If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
I guess they would have seen it all–

Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
And every dream that we came to seek
Or followed after,
If these walls could speak.

They would tell you that I owe you
More than I could ever pay.
Heres someone who really loves you;
Dont ever go away.
Thats what these walls would say.