The Call
When John Coltrane’s“My Favorite Things” entered the world in the late fifties, I was a wife, mother, daughter, and sister—all the “favorite things” of the patriarchy. The intersection of his music with those roles became “when and where I (could) enter” creative space. I realized I had a place. How and by what means would I get there?
In retrospect, the persistent roaring of my husband, “Git that shit offa the record player,” still surprises me. How could he as a musician and male with all those credentials not hear what Coltrane was saying while I could? “My Favorite Things” put a crack in patriarchal space and I could feel that “freedom” comin’ on down the line. I thought it would be just like that old spiritual says, “It won’t be long now, chile.” I was wrong. It would take years for me to consciously discern what Coltrane’s invitation was all about.
