The week I found out my uncle Frank died I called my Aunt Antoinette. I hadn't spoken to her in over ten years, but between the two of us we are the only members of my father's family still living in the home county. Most of my family is in the next county north, and her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren are scattered up and down the east coast. I've been reluctant to talk with her because what my father did is like a shadow that overarches everything.

"We were a musical family," she told me "Your grandfather played the clarinet, your grandmother and a couple of your aunts played piano. Your uncle Frank was a musical prodigy. He could pick up any instrument and play by ear. Your father though, he was the only one who didn't play. He was the baby of the family and mom spoiled him rotten. He used to say that he was very good at playing records."

This weekend 7 of 12 came in from Oregon with his wife and his son, and everyone on the east coast collected at my sister's house. I brought the keyboard that I have hooked up to the computer. I never knew that my brother 2 of 12 (the schizophrenic) had done anything on piano. He picked out this really interesting tune that he had made up about twenty years ago at school. 6 of 12, the music nut, played guitar chords on the piano and made up a few strange songs about being lonely and the color purple. Guest of honor 7 of 12 programmed the keyboard to play drums.

Best of all though was my new nephew Nathan. He is seven months old and just wiggles around on his stomach. We set him down so that his hands could just reach, and he banged away at it for what seemed like twenty minutes. He played up and down the keys and would smile each time he made a different sound. What a beautiful child. He made me really glad I brought that keyboard.