Thank You, Sean

By 
Kaliq Santos-Lehman

“I realize that art can heal some wounds that medicine really won’t and that my uncle uses art to forgive himself and heal.”

I'm Kaliq Santos, and this is my What We Hold story. I spent the first half of my life bouncing between Brazil and the U.S. every summer. At the time, many riots broke out because of the economy. Violence in my hometown of Salvador de Bahia wasn't uncommon. I very clearly remember coming from the U.S. after my sixth birthday and seeing fresh blood on the street I walked to school every morning to for a week. Eventually, the economy pushed me and my parents to move out to the U.S. permanently. A big part of me is glad I grew up in life, my early life, without much money to my last name. It's made me learn that there are things more important than money out there.

When we first moved to Cave Junction, Oregon, we were living with my uncle. I didn't know he was one of the most amazing artists I'd ever meet. Sean, my mom's brother, played guitar every day for six hours, no matter what happened throughout his day, how much work he had done... nine times out of ten, I would listen to him for the whole time he played. After a while, he let me play, or more accurately, touch one of his guitars.

First guitar I ever touched was a Sunburst Fender. Its colors were orange and black. And when I first held it, I clearly remember feeling it was the perfect object; it was the right weight, it was the right size and the right sound. And after I held it, I made a damn fool of myself too. Sean had one of the sweetest smiles I’d ever seen when he heard me badly play the two notes I thought were so cool at the time. I feel like they're beautiful, even though I can't remember what they sound like. And that moment on, I haven't not thought of playing guitar a day in my life.

After the first year in Oregon, we moved out of his house. My dad left to go to work out of town for weeks on end for half the year. He left me and my mom with each other often. One night it was winter break. It was time for dinner. So I walked into the kitchen to see if there was anything being cooked up by my mom. I found her on the wood counter of our old house, crying. Little me didn't know how to not ask why yet, so I did.

I realized that all we had left was a small pot of tomato soup and water left in the fridge. Before my mom finished telling me it was nothing, I stopped myself and I went back to my room. A week after we had left my uncle's house, I spent a few days with him. He surprised me with a gift. My uncle didn't have a lot, so it surprised me that he got me something, especially out of nowhere. And, it was a black and white kid-size Peavey Raptor electric guitar.

I was so happy to have something… to myself that I truly wanted to take care of every day. It felt really good. Throughout that week, he taught me the minor pentatonic scale. He told me he taught me scale because he wanted somebody to jam with. Luckily, I liked his taste in loud metal and rock music. After seeing my mom, I went back to my room and I picked up my guitar and played that scale and soloed over nothing for three hours, even after dinner was ready. Now, I live in Oakland with my two little brothers and my mom. I’m auditioning for jazz instrumental in February at my school.

Now that I play guitar more often than I did then, I realized that art is how Sean coped with life. He and my mother had a bad relationship with my grandfather. Before he… me and him met, he coped with alcohol. My grandfather taught him how to play. He taught him the blues, too. But now, I realize that art can heal some wounds that medicine really won't, and that my uncle uses art to forgive himself and heal. Thank you for listening. And that's my What We Hold story.