My mother’s personality was always different. The people we knew, even the stoic but funny Muscogee people, were more outgoing and sociable than my mother. She loved to laugh at our jokes but seemed more outwardly serious. Ma rarely had friends and never seemed to get lonely or nostalgic. In retrospect, it all makes sense. From the orphanage to the sanatorium, she was taught that she could only count on herself. There was a great sense of devotion, not always with visible warmth but with great consistency. My dad, who was a full blooded Muscogee, was also consistent and loyal, but he loved to laugh and was very sociable and smart. From the outside, you would not necessarily think they would be an ideal couple, but they were so fortunate to find each other.

It is somehow strange to write all of this as she lives in a nursing home with hardly any awareness of the world. But I owe her everything, and so I write to remember her more. From hearing others’ stories in adulthood, I have realized what wonderful parents they were. Always kind, always there. I never had rules. I didn’t have a curfew or chores. I never had to study or practice. They gave me a childhood where I only did things that I desired. The biggest part of that was music. When a young child naturally gravitates to classical music, people tend to idealize them. That’s not necessarily deserved, but I did come off to them as a very good child. I was always in my room enraptured by sound. It wasn’t until my 40s that I realized I had grown up with an extremely strong case of synesthesia. Synesthesia is experiencing one sense through another. For me, sight denoted sound timbre. So I was obsessed with my Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, although not for the same as other kids. My cars had different colors, shapes, and mattes, and these all became sounds of different colors, brightness, energy, and ability. I would sit in my room for hours. To others, it would look like I was staring at the cars in silence. But I was hearing each of them play with their extremely varied qualities. I would then audition them. Depending on the piece and how it fit their abilitites, the seating order would change.

The synesthesia eventually transferred to names and I used to love reading programs and finding new names. I collected around 200 names—many that I found, and others that I made up. These names would play the violin. Depending on the spelling and sound of the names, their timbres and musical strengths would shift. I can still hear them because I spent so much time with them. I would audition maybe half of them and would visualize their vibratos and bow technique. At a certain point, I felt it was unfair to be the sole judge, so I began to divide myself into five different judges with five different perspectives. Interestingly, I still memorize orchestral rosters through synesthesia. Their names denote quality, which is only replaced when I get to know the actual person. It is a handy trick!

Today, I still function by my parents rules and only do what I desire.