Plus, she hadn’t seen her grandson in a year, and that made it even more important for her. Funny how sons and daughters seem to disappear in the presence of grandchildren. As the vanishing son in this equation, I am delighted at the love and attention that my mother showers on my own son. She’s actually quite wonderful and can teach us all a thing or two about loving and raising your children…no matter how old they are.

Here’s the deal. My sister knew that I was going to take the son driving today (he has his learner’s permit). On our way home from dinner, she calls me with this specific message: Don’t yell at him while teaching him to drive.

That’s a fine message. The fact is, however, I have only yelled at my son once in 16 years. We both remember it clearly. It was a bit traumatic for both of us. Due to my boy’s amazing maturity and willingness to trust me even then, we worked through it just fine.

So, here comes Sunday (driving day). I call my mother to thank her for the meal and her hospitality of the day before and she, too, manages to tell me not to yell at my son during the driving lesson.

I am almost starting to take all of this quite personally when the truth of all this occurs to me.

They love him…a lot.

The women in this family of mine instinctively, vocally and actively protect their young. They all did it with me and they are doing it with my son. Regardless of any real need, they do it. That’s what we do with children in my family…get ‘em growed up and keep ‘em safe while doing so…constant vigilance.

My son is very excited about driving. He’s also very anxious about driving…and a lot of other things. As i have said before, he loves me, he trusts me and he listens to me.

We drove…or rather, he drove. He let me put him through my paces (driving long distances backwards, doing figure eights through parking lot medians, backing the car into a parking space) in an empty high school parking lot. Then I led him through the parking lot to an exit out onto the roads of my community…which surprised and delighted him…and made him a little anxious.

The way you learn to drive on a road or a highway is to drive on a road or a highway. The deal is, because of his anxiety, he is hyper-vigilant and way, way careful. I wasn’t worried. He will probably someday drive folks in the cars behind him crazy, but that would be their problem.

I told him to do what he knew to do and reiterated a line he has heard from me for 16 years. “Be careful. Pay attention.” He says it with me, now. He drove.

He was pretty satisfied with himself (and me, I think) in the end. I had told him about his aunt’s and grandmother’s admonition to me before we started driving. I gave it to him like this: “You know how much your aunt and grandma love you?…”. At the end of the session he asked for my phone. He called each of them and informed them that I didn’t yell once at him and, just in case they didn’t know, I never really have.

LB

www.larryburnett.com

He is 16 years old. I remember 16. It was not easy for me and it has not been a walk in the park for him.

He has been in Utah for the past year and last night he arrived home. I met him at the airport and we came to my home, talked a bit, ate (he has a ferocious appetite, which, in spite of, he is skinny as a rail…a small genetic inheritance from dear ol’ skinny Dad) and then slept.

He was picked up this morning by his mother, who lives down the road and with whom he generally lives. We will spend tomorrow and Monday together and then he is off with his mom for a few days before he goes to a boarding school in Connecticut.

I love him. He loves me. There is no doubt between us of these two facts.

He trusts me. He willingly reveals himself (as best as he can interpret himself) to me…always has…perhaps, he always will. One never knows.

My own father’s influence on me was defined more by his absence in my life than by his presence. I set out, When my son was born, to not have that be the case with his father in his life. So far, so good.

Here’s the storypoint to all this:

A few days before my boy’s arrival home, I become uncomfortable. I wonder about my fitness as a father…as his father. What will we talk about? Will we talk at all? What will we do? How will he greet me? Should I wrap him in my arms? Is he too old for that? Does he think I’m an idiot, yet (he is a teen, after all)? Does he see through my charade?…sense the fatherly fraud in me?

This is a small part of the influence of my own father’s absence on his son. I often suspect that he felt these same things with me…perhaps contributing to his reasons for disappearing (although it isn’t as simple as him just “disappearing”).

During these moments of doubt, I seriously have absolutely no clue how to be a father and no experience with a father of my own to rely on or, at least, imitate. It’s frightening and depressing…and gets more powerful as the time passes and the arrival grows nigh.

It has been this way for the last 14 years. His mother and I were divorced when he was 2. She is very flexible and generous with regard to our contact with each other (my son’s and mine). Every time I would drive to get him for whatever time together we had, these same thoughts and feelings and fears and anxieties would accompany me on my trip.

So here it all is again.

And here’s what happened (and what always has happened)…

I arrive at the baggage claim exit where he is waiting. He sees me. He lights up. He smiles. He gestures to make sure that I see him (which, of course, I have already moments before)…and…suddenly…I am lit up…I am smiling…I am exiting the car as he is hurrying towards me (not the car, but, me) with his bags. We hug just as easy and real as it always has been…load up his luggage and get the hell out of there and begin our conversation right where we left the last one. I am able to make him laugh (a good sign…always) and he makes me smile…and think…and love him.

The only thing that I have come up with as a solution to the anxieties that I mention is to simply …show up. I let all of this internal dialogue go on as long as it wants to (I can’t do anything about it, anyway) and then…I show up…the rest becomes instantly easy.

I think my son knows (and likes) that about me. His Dad will always show up…and there’s a lot to be said for showing up.

LB

www.larryburnett.com

Larry's Confidence Game CD

For years, now, I have been trying to re-enter the music business in a way that supports me…and I don’t need much in the way of support these days.

There was a time when I was worth about 12 million dollars. I’m not worth that anymore, nor do I need that.

There was also a time when I owed about $800,000 more than I actually had. I certainly don’t need that anymore.

There was a time when I performed in front of huge crowds, the biggest of which was 400,000 in Austin TX. I don’t need that anymore, either.

I began my musical life as a teenager with an acoustic guitar, an interesting voice and songs in my head. As I aged a bit, I would perform for small gatherings in small clubs (Cellar Door, DC; Main Point, PA; etc) full of folks that seemed to listen. I liked that. So, it seemed, did the audiences.

I don’t represent myself well in terms of the music business. I find it hard to self-promote. It’s embarrassing. I need folks to speak (promote) for me…managers, booking agents, etc.

So, over these past few years, I have talked with dozens of these types of characters, big and small in stature, in an effort to resurrect a career, but at a different level than before…a return to the solo, acoustic personae that I began with and am most comfortable with.

There is, just under the music business radar, a huge circuit of small acoustic audiences and venues out there for a host of newer acoustic characters that have emerged…Greg Brown, Ellis Paul, Matt Duke, Amos Lee…even some older guys like me…Steve Forbert, John Prine.

If nothing else, it seems to me that sheer numbers should pique someone’s interest.

It goes like this:

• Firefall has sold, to date, about10-12 million units (albums/CDs). We released 6 albums. That’s about 2 million units of each item.
• We can assume that 12 million different individuals each bought one, or we can assume that the same 2 million folks bought one of each of the six…or we can assume something else. I like the second assumption.
• So, there’s an assumed Firefall fan base of 2 million people, worldwide.
• Let’s further assume that some percentage of those 2 million actually were more drawn to my songwriting than to the hits that Rick Roberts wrote and we became famous for. Let’s say that that percentage is 10% (see how modest I am?)…200,000 sets of ears.
• Let’s assume they are all still alive and interested in what I’m doing and that 75% of them live in the United States…that’s 150,000.
• Divide that by 50 (number of states)…3,000.
• This suggests that if there are 10 300-seat venues in each state (more in some, less in others) I should be able to sell out a properly promoted show in each of the venues.
• Let’s assume a ticket price of $20. That’s $6000 with, say, 80% to the Artist ($4800) and $720 of that to the Agent…times 250 shows a year. That’s $180,000 a year to the agent.

First of all, check my math.

Then tell me, why would one not be interested in such a thing?

If you are, get in touch.

LB

www.larryburnett.com

Larry's Confidence Game CD

As you may have read previously, I have a job.

I work at a UPS Store not far from my home in Northern Virginia. I make $10 an hour plus medical insurance (which is probably worth about a half million more a year to me. Life is different at 56).

Everybody thinks I am wealthy (ex-rock star, and all) and can’t figure out why I work in a store. I need the money, folks…same reason most of us have a job…and I really need those medical benefits

I went in late this morning. When I arrived I was informed by my co-worker that I missed two stroller-pushing 30-something females peering in the window of the store, hoping for a glimpse of the rock star that works here. I’m quite the conversation piece here in the village.

My co-worker was outside having a cigarette and saw them perambulate up, stop, peer in the window and overheard one of them telling the other all about me (what does she know, exactly?), describing me as tall & distinguished looking…which, as we all know, means I have gray hair. I had gray hair when I was 26, but don’t ever recall being called “distinguished-looking”…”drug-drenched” came up a couple times.

Later in the day, a woman came in and said, “Hey, the rock-star guy” by way of greeting me. Apparently, her and her husband and infant had come some weeks earlier and needed me to notarize (yes, I am a Notary Public…an actual officer of the court) several thousand documents for a real estate transaction and my co-worker, who never misses an opportunity to do so, broadcast my former status to them.

I know folks’ intentions are good. They seem genuinely impressed at my history. And it certainly beats someone saying “Wow, FIREFALL, you guys really sucked”, which has never happened, by the way…at least not to my face.

It’s just hard for me, standing there in my UPS Store polo shirt with my UPS Store name tag on in my UPS Store to connect to it, and them, in any meaningful way. It’s a little surreal. I feel a bit like a museum piece…or worse, the bearded lady in the sideshow.

All that’s my problem, I know.

I thank people for their kind words and appreciation, notarize their docs and ring them up .

LB

www.larryburnett.com

Larry's Confidence Game CD

Thursday mornings I have a few hours before I have to go in to work (yes, I have a job). I just got this WordPress up and running, so I’m trying it out.

I have a cup of coffee, a cigarette, CNN on in the background, elegantly attired in my lounging pajama’s, sitting at my desk (a piece of discarded plywood spanning two discarded filing cabinets…trash, in other words).

I am amazed, amused, and often puzzled at the assumptions folks make about me, mostly because of my background in the music business. Thirty years ago I was one of the primary singer/songwriters in the band FIREFALL.

People think I am wealthy (my net worth at this moment is approximately $500), they believe me to be wildly exciting and the life of any party (haven’t been to a party in decades…In fact, I rarely go out at all).

People seem to assume that what we do (or, in my case, what we’ve done) is who we are. In some cases, and to some extent, that may be true.

In this journal, I hope to introduce readers to the “who I am” aspect of things, while revealing some of the less public aspects of “what I did/do”…stories, in other words. Folks seem to like ‘em, and I have many. The more horrifying and shocking, the better, sometimes.

Stop in from time to time. Read and enjoy and think about things.

I gotta go to work.

LB

www.larryburnett.com