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We asked my mother once why she wasn’t a musician instead of a schoolteacher, and she didn’t answer. But sometimes she would get a faraway look in her eyes that made me wonder if she was seeing herself in another life, perhaps on a smallWe asked my mother once why she wasn’t a musician instead of a schoolteacher, and she didn’t answer. But sometimes she would get a faraway look in her eyes that made me wonder if she was seeing herself in another life, perhaps on a small stage in a village pub somewhere, where fireside pints in the evening gave way to stage lights bouncing off long, straight brown hair, parted down the center. She’d met my father when she was just seventeen, became pregnant shortly after, and was married by nineteen. My father took a job at the local railroad company and worked up the ranks to management until the line closed down. Then he just took work wherever he could get it. Money was tight. Tensions and tempers were tighter....more