A little about me...
My dream was to become a drummer. Rock, jazz, studio performer, didn't matter, I was obsessed with drums. My first set was a cardboard box and an old electric fan. The fan had one of those metallic badge-like emblems with the manufacturer's name and the particular model printed on it. Being a thin metal thing, it was attached by way of these little tabs that wrapped around part of the circular wire cage that protected you from the spinning blades. I'm telling you this because when you hit the fan with a stick, the metal thing would vibrate and it sounded kind of like a cymbal, specifically, a hi-hat. Kinda. The cardboard box sounded like a dull tomtom, enough of a snare to suffice. I was 10 years old and that was my first kit.
I badgered my mom, unrelentingly, for a real set until, one day, a local drummer of some renown had 2 sets he wanted to sell... a full set of Rogers and a full set of Ludwigs. My mom gave him 125 bucks for the whole shebang. All in all, 2 bass drums, 4 riding toms, 2 floor toms, a snare, 5 Zildjian cymbals and all the hardware anyone would need to wake the dead. Which I did, repeatedly, for the next 12 years. Not sure how my parents dealt with it. It must've been a nightmare for them. And, yea, we stole those drums.
I even attended the School of Music at North Texas State, now known as UNT, for a short stint, played in a few rock bands along the way until, one night, I had a dream...
I was playing my heart out in my apartment when I heard a knock on my front door. When I opened it, the fellow standing there, who I suppose had heard my ruckus through the wall, said, "You really don't have much of a style, do you?" What? No style? Could my mom have been wrong? My world was shattered. My drumming world, anyway. But, as harsh as dreams can be, they also, sometime, hold truths. Or, suggestions. I heeded, sold the drums and commenced my pursuit of a career in art. (Yet another nightmare for my parents.)
When I get a few more minutes, I'll tell you about that.