I was a sick kid–-as familiar with my hospital room in the pediatrics wing at U.C.L.A. as I was with my own little room at home. Being a teaching hospital, I was frequently Exhibit A as interns and residents and their stern physician instructors made their daily rounds. They’d refer to me by my gender and age and disease. I didn’t appear to have a name. They didn’t know I love to play the piano or sit under big shady trees or that in some perverse way am relieved to be in the hospital and away from the war zone that is home.
I got swept into the routine of it — everything you can imagine them doing to keep a critically ill kid alive. But you never know when something wonderful will happen. One morning there is a sudden flurry of activity and excitement outside my door. Nurses and other staff are trotting up and down the corridor but not in a “Code Blue” kind of way. They are positively buoyant. Maybe I’m hallucinating because that’s the only way I can explain this level of bizarre…
Until one of the nurses swoops into my room and breathlessly exclaims “Bobby Darin is here! B-O-B-B-Y D-A-R-I-N !!! He’s here to see the kids.” Splish-Splash, Mack The Knife, Dream Lover, Beyond The Sea. THAT Bobby Darin!
He’s a BIG star, this guy. And I am a BIG fan. The nurse fluffs up my hair and smooths out the wrinkles in my hospital gown just as HE walks into my room. I can’t freaking believe it. There is no entourage trailing him, taking pictures and commiserating. He leans towards me with that beautiful face. And those eyes. Oh God. And he talks…to me. “Would you like a picture and an autograph?” He asks SO sweetly as if he is singing the words. I nod yes because I can’t get my mouth to work. I’m completely undone. It’s Bobby Darin. As he hands me his 8 x 10 glossy everything is right with the world.
We all have moments in our lives that are seared into our memory, burned into our bones. Little moments that can turn into a monumental shift—like when a teacher says “good job” or a stranger looks you in the eyes and says “you’re okay.” And that close encounter with Bobby Darin is one of my moments.
He used his celebrity to bring kindness, a little healing to ALL the people in pediatrics that day. He didn’t have to do it. His warm presence was not “put-on.” Bobby Darin was a sick kid too. He was visiting “a land” he knew well. He must have known that he was on borrowed time. We all are. He died ten years later.
Even as a little girl I already knew that music healed me. And during those dark years when I was so ill, if I didn’t have a piano to play I would not have survived. So it’s just been my thing that music, at the very least gives us a second wind and at the deepest, most profound levels, it transforms us.
Which brings me to January 2017. My ukulele group, The CC Strummers” has been named “Senior of The Month” by The Culver City Senior Center because we bring a little healing to our community. We regularly play for folks with dementia at a local adult day care center and get them singing and dancing along. Several of our CC Strummers now teach ukulele to nearby middle school students once a week. The kids LOVE it and love them.
And…
Through a series of serendipitous events–one person comes up with an idea that inspires another person to do something and suddenly more people are jumping on the bandwagon–The CC Strummers landed at The Mattel Children’s Hospital at U.C.L.A. playing and donating ukuleles to sick kids on the pediatric wards.
The story begins with our association with a wonderful organization called The Ukulele Kids Club which donates ukuleles to sick kids in hospitals around the country. Our group quickly collects enough money for five ukes and they ask where we’d like the ukuleles sent. U.C.L.A. is close to Culver City so we begin our collaboration with this respected institution as they build their music therapy program.
Finally the day arrives when we do our first session: Michael, Rose, Raymond, Vicki and me. We have no idea what to expect as the music therapist leads us from hospital room to room. We sing “How Much is That Doggie in the Window?” to the little ones and “All About That Bass” (minus the “booty booty” and “bitch” parts) to the bigger ones.
Some kids are in isolation and we stand outside their door and sing. With others, we gather around them and talk about how much we love the ukulele and show them how to play “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” We give ukuleles away. The kids can’t believe it. They are over the moon. We give a ukulele to parents who will learn to play a few songs and teach their kids. The sense of gratitude is like an arrow that shoots both ways.
And here I am, coming full circle, spinning back, back, in time. Pediatrics is in a different building now than I remember. The long corridors are painted lilac, yellow, sky blue. Each kid has a name and we learn it before we meet them.. I’m doing okay…considering… But suddenly I am blindsided with emotions that rise from some deep, unknown place inside. Suddenly I am THAT sick kid again, laying in that hospital bed. AND I am a musician standing beside her, sharing a smile and a song. The past, the present are whirling together in some time-bending dance.
It’s a Bobby Darin kind of moment. A little healing. A fierce reminder that we are all on borrowed time.
Charlee Cott
Hi Cali. You probably don’t remember me. I took a couple of sessions with you at the music store, which I thourghly enjoyed but have not been able to continue right now. Anyway, I still receive and enjoy your blogs. The one about your mom in Trader Joe’s struck a cord with me. I’ve had many of those types of experiences with my now 24 year old daughter who has borderline personality disorder along with some other issues. I’ve been screamed at and humiliated in public places where everyone is staring at you. It’s a helpless feeling and I never really know what to do. I just want to get away. And the worst thing is “she doesn’t have a problem” (I’m the one ) and doesn’t want help. We’ve tried many times to no avail.
Now on a more positive note, your blog about Bobby Darin was so touching. It brought tears to my eyes. I, too, was and am a huge Bobby Darin fan (my mom loved him too). What a wonderful gesture on his part. Anyway, it just so happens I’m acquainted with his son, Dodd. My husband was principal at Webster Elementary in Malibu and had his 2 girls in his school. Audrey, his wife, is friends with my husband and we still get together with her along with some other Malibu moms for lunch. So I took the liberty of forwarding your story to him. I hope you don’t mind. I know it will be very meaningful to him.
Cali, keep the stories coming. I know I will meet you again, either in class or if I join the Strummers, which I plan on doing at some point. Until then, I’m practicing at home and with friends. And you keep playing, singing and spreading the joy of music.
Sincerely,
Charlee Cott
Cali Rose
Hi Charlee and thank you for your message. I know it sounds trite, but I really feel your pain regarding your daughter. Borderline/Narcissistic Personality Disorder is awful for the person with it, but I think it’s awful, awful, awful for the people who try to love them. I had to give up hope that my mother would get better or change. At that point it became more apparent that I needed to do some serious letting go. Loving detachment. I know I did the best I could and now it was time to protect myself and set iron bar boundaries (which occasionally crumbled…). I limited my face and phone time with her. But then again this “stuff” is fused into my bones too. It also helped me tremendously to network with others who are dealing with these issues. I was stunned by the email responses I received to this blog about my mother and the stories and angst they shared about their family members. I feel better knowing I’m not alone and life goes on and we have a right to live free and with joy. I don’t think my mother wanted to cause suffering in others. Who would? But this terrible disease takes over and their behavior, I think, is a way to relieve themselves of the pain. One social worker told me that it also acted as a defense mechanism because if they truly got a sense of the suffering they inflict on others, they might keel over in hopeless despair. The point is, take care of yourself.
I’m so honored that you passed my blog onto Bobby Darrin’s son. In fact I hope people share my blogs, period, if they think someone else can find themselves in my stories. Dodd must have been fairly young when his father died. Hopefully he was able to move through that loss and live a full rich life.
I look forward to seeing you one of these days at The CC Strummers classes. Contact me first so I can give you the location details.
Warmly,
Cali
Cali Rose
From Anonymous:
As always, a touching, relevant and personal piece of sharing from the heart. I can empathize. Over the years, I’ve made my share of visits to patients, young and old. I wish that I had the benefit of toting along my ukulele, but I didn’t pick that up till I retired over a decade ago. But ministers never retire, so I gather up a few seniors after worship on Sundays and we “jam” a bit. I also find myself giving away ukuleles and music to move things along. Music is definitely healing esp. for folks who feel that their best years are behind them. But you know all this, but just to let you know that your reflections have a pretty long reach…even up here in San Francisco’s Chinatown to an 81 yr. old retiree……
Keep strumming….
Marilyn Hess
Cali, you outdid yourself! Thanks for Sharing your experience as a sick kid who had music transport her to a fantasy land of rainbows and lollipops! You are truly “playing it forward”! Now we know why you are so passionate about the music! We all have an expiration date, with music it makes life tolerable. I am humbled learning of what you went through as a child. Bobby Darin was perhaps the finest entertainer ever! Seeing him perform in the 60’s, at The Coconut Grove, was indeed transformative! Now we know “the rest of the story”! He was an angel sent to cheer a sick kid and give an escape from what must have been a scary and difficult time in your childhood. He understood what power music had and graciously shared his gift with others. Those moments of pure magic are what we remember and truly make life worth living!
Cali Rose
Thank you Marilyn. You bring a joyous, buoyant spirit to everything and everyone you touch. We are lucky to have you in our world.
Regina Klein
Beautiful sentiment, beautiful style. Your account of coming full circle is much appreciated.
Cali Rose
Thank You Regina!
Tatiana Tailor
How amazing! I can’t wait to start my lessons so I can join in the activities.
Blessings to you all for the joy you bring others. I love hearing a uke because you can’t feel bad when you hear that sound.
Cali Rose
Indeed, the ukulele is very comforting and soothing, like a warm blanket on a cold night. I’m glad you will joining our party soon.
Halaine Steinberg
This is such a beautiful story, and you have told it so eloquently and with such warmth and honesty. We could all use a little extra healing right about now. Thank you for all you do my beautiful Cali. Love you! From your sista-cuz Halaine!
Cali Rose
Thank you Sister-Cuz Halaine. We both know tough beginnings and try like hell to make things right. Love you.
Ellen Bloom
You brought a few tears to my eyes, Cali! What a lovely story. Thank you!
Cali Rose
Well you know about getting out there and shining your light Ellen. I guess we never know how a little kindness will turn the world around…for ourselves and others.
Sherry
Oh, sweet Cali Rose, your story touched me. I spent many years undergoing multiple eye surgeries and treatments as a young adult. There was no Bobby Darin for me. There was, though, one very handsome, young surgeon. He marched into my hospital room and told me to change back into my regular clothes. He said, “You are not sick, Sherry. You just have eyes that need help. You are still the same person. Don’t put that gown on until it’s time for surgery.” His statements and saying my name made me feel like I was a person again and not just “the retina patient.” I have never forgotten him. It is amazing what a little kindness can do!
Cali Rose
I love this story Sherry. What a difference it makes when it feels like someone actually “sees” us. Is paying attention. Is all here and not in robot mode. We don’t forget do we? Thank you for sharing.