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Day by Day

Here is more of the rough draft of my next novel, You’re the One: The True Story of Jack and Jill. Jack Frontenac is the member of the Rythmers, a Rock band. They have finished a concert in Jack’s hometown a couple of days ago.

The plan is for the band and crew to travel that afternoon on our bus toward Carbondale, Illinois where our next concert is scheduled for Tuesday evening. I tell them to go without me and I’ll have Dad, or someone drive me there on Monday. They decide to stay another day, so we can all travel together.

I attend Sunday morning services with my parents. I have lunch with them as we had planned. I still haven’t heard from Jill. Since we stay in town, the band decides to discuss Friday’s concert challenges and successes. Dad opens his home to the band so we can use the living room to talk.

I think Dad and especially Mom did not expect guitars unplugged to be part of this discussion. I sit down at the piano at one point, and we change a few things on a song or two. Tom and Denny enhance a few chords and Tom shares a solo part he hopes to add to one of the songs. We like it and think it will be fun to add it.

Ending the concert with “Day by Day” becomes part of our discussion.

“I don’t feel right singing that song,” Chuck Starks states.

The three band members look at each other. I think we all wonder why this suddenly becomes an issue. It is on our next album already and we have played it at the four other venues before this one.

“I’m not saying you cannot. It’s part of our album entitled “Day by Day Rhythms.” But I feel like a hypocrite. Can you do it without the drums?”

“Can I ask why the sudden objection?” I ask.

“I never paid much attention to the words until we came here and played it in front of your dad, Jack.”

Dad and Mom had been in and out all afternoon. Mom had prepared some sandwiches, carrot sticks and a bowl of chips for us. Dad brings them in to us while Mom cleaned up and changed to attend Sunday evening services. Dad was on his way out when he heard Chuck mention him. He stops under the doorway between the living room and the hallway back to their bedroom.

I can see Dad trying to recall the words. I look around and he’s not the only one thinking about the words.

“What’s wrong with the words, Chuck?” Tom asks.

“There’s nothing wrong with them. I just don’t mean them. I’m not even sure if I believe in God let alone want to draw closer to him,” Chuck confesses.

I watch Dad react to this. His forehead furrows and I am afraid he wants to speak up.

Dad motions like he is about to speak, but then his body recoils, “Your mom fixed these for you. We need to get ready and leave for our evening services, but you can stay and work on your music.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch Dad turn and start down the hallway. Then, my heart stops when he pauses to turn around and add a last statement.

“I respect what you say, Chuck. I wish members of my congregation would take to heart what their singing sometimes. I hope you leave it in the show, and I hope one day Chuck you will feel differently about God. Goodnight, fellows. I’ve enjoyed having you here and getting to spend some time with you and the rest of your crew,” Dad smiles and disappears down the hallway.

I began to see Dad in a whole new way after that night. I knew I loved him. He was my father. But I gained a little more respect for the man he is. I wish now I had followed him down that hallway and told him so.

We decided to sing the song every night of every concert without our drummer joining us unless or until he changed his mind

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Douglas Knight

I write about what I'm thinking or what I've imagined in an effort to regain that childhood imagination and marry with my many years of real experiences. I'm getting better at it the more I write.I am a published author of two romantic intrigue novels.My books can be found at or if you want a personalized copy, by emailing me at

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