Who Sees Our Future?

As a teacher I came to be close to many, many young people. Some went on to college, some didn't. Some went on to study music in some form, some didn't.Some stayed in their hometown and others moved on to "big city" life. Some still stay in contact with me, some don't. Some of them liked me, some didn't. Each one was a different personality and had different learning strengths and needs. I learned early-on that if I was going to do my job correctly, I would need to get to know them on a much deeper level. However, this took me AWAY from my dream, which had been to complete my Master's degree and Doctoral degree and become a university choral music professor. But it never happened. I found that I didn't have the skills for that. But I did have the skills for helping kids grow up through music. Music wasn't always the subject. The real subject was 'life'. I was better at teaching that, than I was at teaching music. I am writing this to a specific friend of mine. He is a former student of mine-a very gifted, talented young man who has chosen to go into the music education field. He just hasn't found a job yet. He had a great idea for self-motivated music students in his local geographic area. He did an exemplary job of planning and organizing his idea. He covered all the bases. He included professionals in the area who were willing to be of assistance. He aligned himself with a local music organization that could and would offer their non-profit status for the good of his idea. The time came to take his well-planned idea to the people that mattered most---the local music educators. And they gave him a resounding, "Sorry, but we are not interested. We are not interested in asking/allowing our students to take on more musical responsibility." (Personally, I think they were pretty much intimidated and were a bit worried that the educator with the idea might do a better job than they were doing. But, that's just me!) My friend was devastated! He had worked so very hard. He planned well: he would emphasize what was important, he would teach what was musically fundamental and do it in a most interesting manner, he would help these fine students reach an even higher musical-performance level. And he would have done it asking NOTHING for himself. He just wanted to be teaching and be involved bringing the joy of music to young people. My dream was to become a college professor. I didn't. I became Mr. Castro--an average choral music teacher with average students who had average musical gifts. Some excelled and some stayed average. Some were even less than average. But that was OK because I was "built" to teach the average kids. My dream was to teach just gifted students and take them on 'Tour' and perform the most difficult choral works and receive standing ovations. What I couldn't see and what I couldn't know, was that even with all my talent and planning and education and drive and deep love for music, God had chosen me for talents and skills in a different area than those needed to accomplish my dream. My abilities were made for those average kids. I loved my students and what they achieved. Sometimes they performed poorly and sometimes they performed exceptionally. Most of the time, they performed somewhere in the middle. However, I am certain that they learned a lot more than the music. And they enjoyed it. And they had fun.There were many memorable moments and events: singing on the Great Wall of China, making a vocal jazz radio commercial for KOMO's Larry Nelson, receiving the 1st Place Trophy at many vocal jazz festivals, etc. But I also remember just as fondly "connecting" with kids and finding a way to help them grow and become and thrive. I was proud to be in their service. That was where my gifts were. My dream never reached fruition. Professor Castro, I will never be. However, I am certain that there are hundreds of students that experienced musical joy, personal growth and inner peace because I never reached my goal. So be it! To my saddened friend, if you are reading this, you know who you are. I expect that you will write me or call me soon. Remember, God knows what we don't know. He also knows your heart and what you desire and what you can do to be of service. I am ever so proud of the man you have become and will always be pleased to tell others that you were "one of mine." God Bless and remember, "Your time will come. Just listen for His voice--you'll hear it."

Life: It Ain't Easy

"I'm calling your mother, young man! You are in BIG trouble." That was Delores. She ran the little store about five blocks from my house. I was eight years old and I had just been caught shoplifting. I was purchasing something small, but had a 'yen' for a popsicle, too. I thought it would help cover my tracks if I bought something at the same time that I was stealing something. It obviously did not work very well. When I got home, I was summarily punished. But the stealing didn't stop. When I was a few years older, I was visiting a neighborhood friend. We were playing with our baseball cards, trading and just doing what boys did in 1960. When Steve left his room, I pocketed a few of his silver dollars. I thought he had enough that he would not notice if two or three went missing. His mother called my mother (they were friends) and I was taken right back and directed to return the dollars and to apologize. And when I got home, I was summarily punished. Over and over this happened in my life. I stole from anyone I could. I stole from large grocery stores, friends, school and neighbors. I even stole from my own mother's purse (though she never had very much money). To top it all off, I once stole well over $400.00 from my church!! Most people who know me now are gasping with disbelief as they read this. I am certainly not proud of this little bit of personal history and really didn't want to share it. But it keeps coming back to me and I have been trying to discover the source of this complete lack of respect for the property of others. My parents never advocated dishonesty. I never saw them steal. In most ways they were forthright--at least when I was quite young. Just what was it that caused this nice young boy to turn to a life of theft? Was it because we were poor? And had nothing? Maybe. My parents worked; they had jobs that they went to EVERY day. They never stayed home sick and they never got vacation until I was in high school. My father, who was Hispanic, had no education past the eighth grade. When he quit school he went to work to support his mother. She was "old country" Mexican and had even less education than my dad. There was no father in his life, either. He never had the chance to play much; no Boy Scouts, no Little League, no band or choir in school, no art, no fun, really, of any kind. It always stood to reason that he would try to deny me those same activities. He always put me to work--that was all he knew. His job was his whole life and he expected work to be the same for me. But why did I steal? Attention? Maybe. My mother was my only REAL parent. She paid attention to me, taught me, read to me, shared with me, corrected me, etc. She was the one who taught me about baseball; the rules, famous players, how to keep a score-sheet,and so forth. She took me to see the Seattle Rainiers many times. She taught me about girls and honesty and hard work and the importance of school. She made sure that I had clothes (when there was any money) and she always was the one who attended my school conferences. But perhaps she gave up "a little" the day I came home from the sixth grade and told her that I was supposed to have her bring me to the police station.I had been caught stealing again. I can only imagine her feeling of betrayal and her great disappointment, to say nothing of her embarrassment. No charges were brought and everything was worked out with the person whom I had offended. But why? Why would I continue to steal? Although I really do not blame him, I truly think it has to do with having a father who was pretty much absent in my life. The culture of his youth and the culture of my youth were just too many worlds apart. He didn't understand how to relate. He didn't ever have the experience of being a son and seeing how a father does what a father is supposed to do. He never told me he was proud of me, although he often told others. He never initiated any kind of play or recreational time with me. He took me to one baseball game---1969, New York Yankees at Seattle Pilots. I was almost nineteen and we had a pretty good time. But he had no idea who Roger Maris, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, Tony Kubek, or 'Moose' Skowron were. He had no idea of the rules of the game. He didn't know what it meant to be "up at bat" or what an "error" or a "hit" was. He just knew that I liked it and my mom made him take me as a high school graduation present. These all are old memories and they are still very painful. And I am still wondering why I became a thief at the age of eight and didn't stop until I was nearly twenty. But I do know this. My dad did what he could do. It wasn't good. It wasn't what I wanted nor what I needed. He was often a nasty tyrant. Both of my younger sisters and I were always scared of him. But you know----I learned a great deal from him. All positive. I learned about the kind of father I would be. I would play with my kids. I would hug them, tell them they were loved, lovingly discipline them, always stand my ground, and lead them. I would teach them to laugh, to understand that people are more important than things, that hard work is how we get what we want in life, but play and leisure are important, too. I had seen what a world without these things looked like. I wasn't going to continue the unhappiness. I feel pretty good about the outcome of my "once-upon-a-time" determination. Our kids are respectful, hard-working, well-educated, kind, caring and loving. They make many mistakes, but they admit them and learn from them. They give a great deal to life and they get a great deal from life. They both have made a huge difference in the lives of many others. And the best part of all---they love coming home. When we are all together, there is always laughing, teasing and joy all around. So I guess some might say that I hate my dad. But I don't, not really. Like I said, he did what he could do; he did what he knew. He was a good man, just not a good father. And I learned a lot from him. And you know what, I think I miss him.