HeARTstrings

by Jonan Keeny

My first recollection of my own heARTstrings was while I was in kindergarten, which my current RCHS students will gleefully agree must have been about six trillion years ago. Back in those days, I was an impatient color-er. I didn’t enjoy coloring, so I got done as quickly as I could, and the lines were irrelevant. So I am sure you will understand why I was given homework: At the request of my teacher, my parents sat me down with a coloring book and made me color, always staying inside the lines. I fondly(?) remember one winter’s eve, sitting in front of the television coloring. When my sly five year-old mind determined that my dad wasn’t looking, I prematurely turned the page and triumphantly declared my task complete with the following unfinished page as my bulletproof evidence that I had successfully, and deservedly, moved on. Dad, however, was wise to my ruse and double-checked my work. Busted. Once that hot-air balloon, so deftly created with a variety of shapes in a variety of sizes, was completely aglow in vivid, barely-hemmed-in-by-the-lines Crayola, my homework was indeed deemed finished. But let’s jump ahead a year or two to the present day...

As a lifelong musician, I have spent hoursdaysweeksmonthsyears re-creating. Be it on stage in a concert hall, beneath the stage in a theatre, or in a recording studio, I have spent most of my time interpreting and re-creating someone else’s work. Each work has typically been found in the form of dots on a page with various other alien-looking symbols and foreign words that musicians learn to understand in their native language without any problem. And it was time well spent! I have had the distinct honor and privilege of performing some amazing pieces of art, both as a soloist and in an ensemble. And I loved just about every moment of it. For the longest time, I could not have imagined anything more rewarding than when someone shared with me that what I/we had performed had had some effect on their heARTstrings. Regardless of the effect, it was the connection that was most important.

But a few years ago, for reasons that don’t matter at this juncture, I started creating things of my own, mostly in the form of poetry and songs, but sometimes also as a doodle or three. What a revelation! And this creative process started at a perfect time: My oldest son,

Wyatt (now 9), was observant enough and articulate enough to ask what I was writing in my notebook. So I told him. And after some time went by with him watching, he requested a notebook of his own so he could write songs, too. These days, a few years later, he doesn’t do as much penning of songs, but he enjoys writing stories, both for school and for himself. He often illustrates his stories as well. He’s smarter than his dad, though, as he typically opts for colored pencils whose exteriors are painted the same shade as the pigment contained therein, rather than using the just-as-decrepitas-my-kindergarten-crayons that are commonplace in our humble little home.

And what about Miles, my four year old? He knows the alphabet, a bunch of numbers, colors, etc. What do I say when he wants to draw a picture or color or otherwise create? “Yes,” almost always. Recently, on a particularly busy work-from-home day, I accommodated his request by taking the largest shipping box I believe I have ever personally received, breaking it down, and placing it on the floor so he could decorate it, with nothing to guide him but some pens and his own imagination. (Genius-level parenting, no?) And since that day, he has returned time and time again to said box. I love what this flattened rectangle of corrugated cardboard will become over time. I suppose the longer we keep it, the more of his artistic journey we’ll be able to trace. And there are no lines to govern his efforts, nor do I intend to add any. Of course, should his artistic endeavors, particularly those for school, ever require strict maintenance of formal boundaries, we’ll work within those parameters. But…we’ll return to the unlined box whenever he would like. As long as the homework is done first, of course.

Jonan Keeny was born in Topeka, Kansas, he got older in Berwick, Pennsylvania, and then he lived a bunch of other places. A lifelong learner and a full-time dreamer, the prospect of grand new adventures gets him out of bed in the morning, with some additional assistance from his two blonde-haired, blue-eyed alarm clocks, of course! Jonan recently rediscovered his passion for photography, which keeps him quite busy tromping around the woods, stopping at random places on the side of the road, and uploading photos to his website, www. myworldpics.com, and his Insta, @dude4disney. When he isn’t wrangling two little boys, he’s likely hanging out with his wife, Mary Lauren, reading a book to learn something new, or dreaming of life’s next adventure and Walt Disney World. Regardless of the activity, he’s probably participating in it while wearing funky socks and a cool hat.

So here I often sit, around 4:00am, in a quiet house, writing, thinking, dreaming…Writing poetry and songs, thinking about my countless list of projects and how best to move forward with each of them, and dreaming not of what might have been, but of what still might be. What kind of artists might my boys become? What artistic heights might they achieve? Will the artistic side of one or both of them fizzle out and disappear? Alas, I am unable to predict what the future holds. But while I still can, I’ll enjoy and embrace all of the tugs on my heARTstrings as I watch my sons explore their own creativity. Blood, sweat, and tears? Well, hopefully not too much blood, but sweat and tears are inevitable, even in these early stages.

Over time, one thing I’ve learned is that lines are great for crosswalks, highways, and the attraction queues at Walt Disney World, among many other things. Lines are meant to guide us in a particular direction, to help us go with the flow in a uniform manner. In many cases, lines are helpful and necessary. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they can hinder. Sometimes you have to make your own.

To my sons, and to anyone else who might need to hear it, I offer this: Mind the lines when it’s prudent, but make your own at every opportunity. Re-create using the lines, and create without them. You never know when either approach might touch someone’s heARTstrings.

(But that’s a story for another day.)