|Drumming in Sunday drum circle at Malcolm X Park in Washington D.C. photo by Pablo Raw|
Every time I see a child playing drums, or playing sticks on tables and just drumming his little heart out I sing within with silent joy enjoying and knowing how the magic world of drumming translates and transforms the drummer. I always express that emotion saying in an almost sing song voice, "Oh!!! Just wonderful!"
My mother never let on when my endless drumming got on her nerves. She kept encouraging me in her silence as she putted around the house doing this and that, cleaning and what not. She taught me to make a drum from a Quaker Oatmeal box when I was six, and as a teenager smiled when I turned up one of her ancient artifacts from Central America and focused learning the rhythms Mongo Santamaria played on the recordings from Daddy's eclectic record collection. It was Mommy who gifted me with my first hand drum, a tumbadora made by Latin Percussion on my 17th birthday simply saying one word that capsulized it all and assuaged my angst created by church dogma around creativity and music: "Play."
I look forward to children's imaginations expanding by the limitless power of being allowed to express himself by their families, but most importantly by their parents. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 11.10.16
|Don Ramon Santamaria Rodriguez (Mongo Santamaria) would be 98 today April 7, 2015|
|drums and percussion instruments from parts of the world.|