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(I’m sure she never even noticed she went viral, again).
My mom is a cellist. She is one of the most brilliant and famous classical musicians the world has to offer right now. And my brother was offered the position of assistant professor at a music college in New York when he was just sixteen. He is an even bigger prodigy than my mom.
Yes, I’m the stupid one in my family.
And yet, I am the one with the global fame. I am the one who has to have at least six guards positioned around my house at all times to protect me from the rabid fans.
I am the ‘Prince of Pop’ according to Rolling Stone. I, the idiot.
Isaiah: Hey mom.
I don’t call her, because I have no idea where she is or what she’s doing. She might be doing anything from final rehearsals or playing in a concert or taking a quick nap between classes. She’s on the other side of the Atlantic as well, touring Stockholm, Vienna and Warsaw for Christmas concerts.
She replies almost instantly.
Mom: How are you, baby? Did the show go ok?
Isaiah: Yeah, it went great. How are you?
Mom: Everything is all right, Isaiah. I am doing well.
Isaiah: Good. I’m glad.
Mom: You’re worrying about me again.
Isaiah: It’s in the job description.
Mom: It’s really not.
Isaiah: ...
Mom: You ok, honey?
Isaiah: Well, let’s see. All kinds of no.
Mom: Talk to me, kid.
Isaiah: I’m supposed to come up with a new album before the European tour. Or at least seven songs.
Mom: Oh no, are they forcing you to do what you do better than anyone else in the whole world?
Haha, very funny. I chuckle wryly to myself but my throat is shredded to pieces—we had five encores instead of the usual two—so it comes out as a cough.
Isaiah: I don’t enjoy writing under pressure.
Mom: Play nice with your friends.
I chuckle again. She’s always trying to make me laugh. And I’m such a difficult, horrible son to her. I keep falling apart on her. And right now, I’m being such a drama queen. Then again, if I can’t be a drama queen to my mom, when can I be one?
But she has been the strong one for too long.
It’s her turn to need help.
Isaiah: Never.
My messages are starting to blow up like crazy with Christmas wishes and congratulation for the end of the US leg of the tour. I turn the notifications off.
Mom: I wish I could help you more, sweetheart. Call your brother?
