The Donald Braswell Story - A Career Ends, a Calling Begins

“Let’s not make this a story about me. Let’s make this a story from me to those who’ve lost direction, and are trying to find their way back home.”               – Donald Braswell

Aloha,

Imagine if, in the prime of their career, Derek Jeter lost the ability to hit, Thomas Kinkade the ability to paint or Robert De Niro the ability to act.

Sure, our world would still turn, but the joy many feel witnessing a God-given talent would surely be affected by the loss of any of the above.

Source:Donaldbraswell.com

In 1995, Donald Braswell was a young, professional tenor and a seasoned veteran of the opera world. He was well on his way to becoming the next Luciano Pavarotti or Franco Corelli, and as his star shot toward international fame and domestic fortune, he and “The Met” were often mentioned together.

Then one day, as he surfed a well-managed wave of reviews and performances that had him on course to play Carnegie Hall, he lost his voice following a 10-million-to-one bicycle accident while on tour in Wales.

Yes, a bicycle.

A Texas native, Donald graduated on a full scholarship to Juilliard in 1990. The hit-and-run accident that stole his voice, career and sent his life into a years-long tailspin has never been solved, and the story of how Donald went from staggering from a cold, Welsh road to jogging under the hot lights of America’s Got Talent in 2008 (he placed fourth overall) is so inspirational that it still blows me away – and I know the backstory.

During his first AGT performance, the crowd booed him before he sang a note, but by the time Donald finished Josh Groban’s You Raise Me Up, the shouts of “Vegas! Vegas!” rang throughout the packed theater as if he’d won the whole thing.

Flushed by success, Donald was, however, eliminated in the next round (ouch), but the man who married his high-school sweetheart and is now a father to three girls, made a dramatic return when NBC held an impromptu wild card round following an injury to another finalist. (As one of eight returning performers, millions voted the then-45-year-old back on AGT.)

Piers Morgan even went as far as saying Donald was “The Rocky Balboa of our show; you were knocked out, you came back and you could win the title. You could.” Though the fairytale ended when he placed fourth overall, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber complimented Donald by saying he “was looking forward to working with” him.

During the thirteen years he was out in the cold, the former professional singer worked as a plasterer, sold insurance, swimming pools, as well as new and used cars – anything to help feed his family.

After relearning how to first talk, and then sing, Donald was working at a car dealership when a chance meeting with a homeless-looking man ended months later with the release of New Chapter, his first CD in 2007. Since then, he’s released two more CD’s, including Unchained, which came out in November.

I first met Donald while interviewing him numerous times for several features in a daily Texas newspaper. I was so intrigued by his story that we chatted for forty-five minutes post-interview. Later, we agreed to work on his memoir, and here we are today.

Donald continues to pay it forward by headlining numerous annual charity events, and three years post-AGT, he inspires thousands via his website, and the member-driven international fan club that sprung to life soon after AGT.

Known as “Braswellians” fans represent thirty-six countries, all fifty U.S. states and each Canadian province. (One teenage Iranian, who recently watched the show in syndication, produced a YouTube montage to Braswell’s original song, We Are The Same You And I.)

Since AGT, Donald has performed on many occasions with the San Antonio Symphony, sings solo events, and is part of a three-tenor group called Gli Unici (“The Only Ones.”)

What I admire so much about this humble, Christian man is that he knows he’s been blessed with a second shot to do what he was meant to do, (and I have to admit, I love the never-quit attitude that kept him going all those many years.)

(I guarantee my laptop would be chucked off a tall building if I ever lost the ability to write.)

Source: Donaldbraswell.com

Speaking of ability, earlier this week, Donald took another bite of the Big Apple when he made it back to Carnegie Hall during a Christmas concert appearance with famous composer, Tim Janis.

Dreams do come true - some easier than others. Donald’s dream to appear at Carnegie has come true.

Mine is to have his inspirational story published, and then see someone pulling out a dog-eared copy of the book as they contentedly settle in for the usual long bus ride home.

How has Donald's story affected you?

(New Feature) You Know You're A Parent When...

Aloha,

I’ve mentioned this before, but people have asked why I’m writing this blog. There are two reasons: One’s because I’m co-writing a memoir about crossover opera singer, Donald Braswell, (upcoming post on Monday, December 5 will explain that more.)

The other reason is I’m a stay-at-home dad who lives for family and writes about life.

When I read other blogs, I see so many people sharing their wonderful teaching moments and passing on their wealth of knowledge.

Me, on the other hand, I’ve so little wealth, I’m about to foreclose on my level of common sense, but… I can help prevent hair loss.

"Who Loves Ya, Baby?"

(I used to have a mullet before the kids were born, now I’m as bald as Telly Savalas – or Howie Mandel, if you’re not sure who Kojak wasJ)

Therefore, to help prevent stress, and help other parents from going baldly where I should never have gone

Ohh, I’m glad he shared that… I wouldn’t want my child to fly down a hill and hit a tree on a tricycle

I’m adding a new feature to my blog.

Starting today, every Friday will be the “You Know You’re a Parent When…” post. I promise not to make stuff up, and that each of the bullet points will have happened since the last post. (I always carry a handy, dandy notebook, thanks to a guy named Steve. (There's a hard cover copy of Dennis Lehane's newest book, "Moonlight Mile" for the first person to comment and tell me the name of the television program I'm talking about:)

So, here we go… You Know You’re A Parent When…

·         Tears come to your eyes as the kids finally eat the 16^th version of cheap, frozen French fries

·         You’re on the phone in one room, and the toddler wanders past the open door, impersonating Harold and the Purple Crayon. Still on the phone, you look at the ragged line on the wall and hope it’s washable.

·         You get off the phone, and phew, it is washable, yahhy! But, as you backtrack to where “Harold” came from, you enter the kids playroom and see several colored markers lying on the floor, their discarded caps and graffiti-filled walls proof you have a real artist in the family.

·         You spend nearly an hour cleaning the walls, and still forget to put the markers out of reach…

Joy... indeed

·         Later on that same day, you’re putting away some clothes when “Harold” comes around the corner with another open marker in his hand – and a huge smile on his face. Running to the kids’ room, your face resembles Munch’s famous painting “The Scream” as you see the walls are marked up worse than before.  

·          You throw away ALL markers known to exist in the house (well, not all,) and wander downstairs with the kids. Seeing some dirty spots on the floor, you scrub at them, but then hear a crash from the other side of the room. While all is well with the older son, you turn back to see “Harold” now dancing in the puddle of water he made after tipping over the container you left on the ground.

Where's my crayon?

·         And, finally, you know you’re a parent when you give up the battle and just plop down to enjoy the boys, who are laughing and giggling as they slip and slide in their impromptu indoor wading pool.   

I’d love to hear if you’ve had any unique YKYAPW… moments. Please submit in the comments section, and as time goes by, the best twenty (chosen by readers) will gain entry into a future YKYAPW… Hall of Fame post, scheduled to be updated every July and December.

What’s So Lucky About Lucky Charms?

Aloha,

OK, I must stop here.

But, you just started…

Well, I have to stop and explain something.

Fine, but you could have waited until you’d written something more than “Aloha.”

What’s wrong with “Aloha?”

There’s nothing wrong with aloha, it’s just you picked a bad place to stop.

Stopping, right after I started?

Yes!

Oh… OK, mahalo.

No worries, now where were you?

I was here, where were you?

In your head, and, by the way… who’s on first?

The above is typical of the conversations I have during the day while I run around as a stay-at-home dad – and aspiring

more like perspiring

author.

See, it’s not that I’m going crazy

he’s not

but every now and again, when I’m alone up to my neck in sticky fingers, dirty feet and repeated requests like

Can I have the pink telephone, please, Papa?

My Office (With Reflected View!)

that I feel the need to chat with someone not called Curious George, Tickle me Elmo or Larry the Cucumber.

The other day, I was trying to get out of the house at least fifteen minutes past the time I supposed to be there

Ha! Making it anywhere on time with my two little boys… I must want to be a fiction writer.

There I stood, in the middle of the living room with three shoes, two drinks and a snack bag hanging off my pinkie, with my two Tasmanian cutie pies listening to nary a word, when I realized that this was why they don’t hand out baby manuals to new parents.

(Mowers and toasters, yes. Babies, no. As a species, we would have died out ages ago.)

But, it’s true. As a parent trying to get anything done on a schedule, it seems like there are only two ways of looking at life during the many moments of "crisis."

It may be embarrassing to stand, sobbing in a pile of expired coupons and look around the baby aisle wondering why they moved the coffee? And, where did they put the frozen quesadilla bites that I need for my picky-eating, Prince of Particular?

But, having often cried myself to sleep in the fetal position (!) I know now that I might as well laugh my way through the day.

So, I thought I’d share a couple of things that made me laugh today (Monday) as I muddled around being a parent who’s trying to write through the drama of life.

Don't Touch the Tree!!

·          Sunday, my wife, Gen, and I started to decorate the Christmas tree, but today I discovered it leaned to the right no matter what I did. So, instead of using a shiny, man-card friendly tool-kit, I went with two of the kids’ colored, wooden blocks and a Gatorade bottle filled with water to stabilize above mentioned safety hazard, er, tree. (MacGyver would have been proud.)

·         Right now, my two boys are watching Curious George, so I have twenty-two minutes to write until the snack plate gets chucked off the table, or the giant fish ball is thrown at the half-decorated Christmas tree… that, hmm, seems to be blowing in the wind.... of the air-conditioning unit... (note to self: turn A/C off until Jan. 6.)

Oh, oh, spoke too soon, the youngest, (21-month-old Corey) snuck around my blind side… I just heard a splash, which means there's a ball or a shoe in the toilet bowl. (It was the ball...)

·         I later discovered a trail of various animal crackers, Fruit Loops and Lucky Charms leading to the general vicinity of the "water boy" who stops chowing down long enough to look up as if to say “Papa, you said if we’re home, it’s OK to eat the stuff that falls on the floor.”

Ed. Note: The author of this piece recollects no such thing, and invokes the Three-Second Rule of the Fifth Amendment.

 By the way, speaking of Lucky Charms… Who are they lucky for? Chiropractors? Dyson vacuum cleaners? I’m always picking up the unlucky seventy-five percent from the Ziploc bag that once contained the marshmallow cereal thingies.

Why do they even pack oat cereal into Lucky Charms anyway? Who eats the cereal? Wouldn’t it be luckier, or more charming, to have an excess of marshmallows and less cereal?

Oh, how these and other questions swirl around my head as I run to deal with the latest issue. (Riddle me this: How do you wash the dirty, stinky towels that lay around a leaking washtub?)

However, it’s the wonderful, unscripted moments that make being a homeschooling parent, in my case, the most wonderful, exciting and amazing experience J

I think when kids hug you, they hit you up with some form of mind-numbing, forget-the-last-hours-of-drama secretion…and their kisses, oh, and their kisses are filled with a liquid solution of love mixed with a double dose of amnesia. (See below… I think…)

This morning, before my unlucky trauma began, I stumbled past the Christmas tree, giving it my best I'll-get-to-you-when-I'm-ready look. Rubbing my eyes, I headed for the kitchen, thinking about the boys’ breakfast when four-year-old Tobey sprinted past me and off he went to hug the tree.
The tree.... ahhh that's cute...... oh, wait!

THE TREE!!!

No! Son, watch out for the blocks and the Gatorade bottle!

“Papa, why is there a Gatorade bottle holding up our Christmas tree?”

A highly intelligent question, one in which I deflected by offering waffles, pancakes or peanut butter sandwich?

Peanut butter won, and then came a moment of silence, a look toward the tree

Oh, oh….

followed by:

“Papa! Today is Christmas time!”

Well, that's a good way to start off a Monday :)

Then this evening, as we were about to go upstairs, the wee man came up and hugged me... for much longer than he hugged the little Noble Fir that could.

Take that, tree!

“Papa?”

“Yes, my son.”

“Papa, thank you for putting the lights on the outside walls. I love you.”

Clears throat…

Sunset & Lights!

Today, I plan to write about how hard, and how difficult it is to be a parent…. Hmmm, where did I put my notes? What was I going to say? I can’t seem to remember…

Can you remember one of your favorite hugs? Why not share a fun memory… It’s Christmas time, and as they say over here, we wish you a Mele Kalikimaka :)

Thanksgiving: What's Your Story?

Aloha,

I wasn't born in America; I just got here as fast as I could.

(I know it’s a cheesy line, but it’s the holidays!)

For my first five Thanksgivings, ('96 to '00) I didn’t care about the holiday, so I volunteered to work at my restaurant, allowing other managers some quality time with their family.

Then, all of a sudden, I found myself working for a place that was closed for Thanksgiving.

And, I didn't know what to do with myself.

(I was new to California and had no friends or family close by.)

A running buddy of mine, also from Ireland, found out my situation while at a dinner party the night before Thanksgiving.

"Hang on a second," says Brian.

He grabs his phone, makes a quick call, and passes the phone to me.

"It's for you."

"What...?"

"Hello, Mark? Yes, this is Brian's mother, Pauline. Brian tells me you've nowhere to go for Thanksgiving?"

"No, ma'am..."

"Right you are, then. Dinner is served at 3 p.m., and just bring yourself."

 

CLICK!

"Your mother just hung up on me," I said to Brian, who was smiling like that Cheshire Cat.

"That's me ma."

Needless to say, I had an absolutely wonderful time at their house, where they made me feel like one of the family. And it was inside that small, loving home that I finally "got" the meaning of Thanksgiving.

My life has changed (as it does) and now my wife and two kids are looking forward to spending another Thanksgiving with some new and old friends.

But, I'll never forget that first one, and whenever we are hosting and I find a "homeless" friend, I always pay it forward by inviting them to join us. It doesn’t cost anything, and it’s not as if we were going to finish the turkey for weeks.

(Footnote... a month after I first met Pauline and her family, she was back on the phone with me on Christmas Eve.)

I was getting ready to have a quiet Christmas. Pauline had other ideas...

No prizes for where I was at 3 p.m. Christmas Day!

What's your top memory of Thanksgiving, and if you could invite one extra person (living or deceased) to the table who would it be?

(My invitation would go to the late U.S. Army Major Dick Winters, former CO of Easy Company – of “Band of Brothers” fame.)
 

Maj. Richard "Dick" Winters