Cat’s in the Cradle

In EMM, Promo by El Mariachi Muerte

“…I’m gonna be like you, Dad.”
“You know I’m gonna be like you…”

The job of a parent is to raise their child up to survive in this world without them.

An old Mariachi teaches his young son to hold his guitar, how to pluck and strum the strings. Soon, the boy learns to play.

Slowly, he becomes more confident in playing his instrument. He continues to play the song his padre taught him. But one day, papá isn’t coming back any more. In my business, I know that eventually, it is your moment to sing your last note. When that day comes, the song father taught the boy will play on through the son. A memory that lasts generations, brought together by La Musica.

Such is the way of Anthesteria.

But when that song is thrust upon us at too early an age, our quest to be like our Father can take a sad and tragic turn.

“The cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
“When you coming home, dad?” “I don’t know when”
But we’ll get together then
You know we’ll have a good time then

Your childhood was cut short, Destructo Boy. Mi amigo, the very man you admired the most in the world, your very own hero proved just how human he was.

Those flames tore your family apart, hijo. Suddenly, the man who you always thought could save everyone, he who had always been your hero… Couldn’t save you when it mattered most. He couldn’t save your dear mamá. She paid the ultimate sacrifice so that you could live, her screams as those flames took her will forever live on as part of your song.

But your hero?

You were left empty handed and asking the question. When you coming home, dad?

“I got a lot to do, he said, that’s okay
And he, he walked away, but his smile never dimmed
It said, I’m gonna be like him, yeah
You know I’m gonna be like him”

You father has expended so much time, so much energy in making up for his mistakes. Trying to save you now, when he should have saved you when you needed it most.

It wasn’t he who escaped Doom and Foley’s clutches, mi amigo… You did that on your own. You realised what we all do eventually.

That some day, a child must be more of a man that his own father. Flesh decays, memories fade, but your song will last forever. You just have to sing it louder than the song your papá taught you to play in those days you used to look up to him.

Time has come to play your own song, Faith. To stop playing the song of a forgotten hero from your past and make your own music.

I can hear how your song begins. The shape it takes is up to you. A triumphant song of Victory, or another deathly slow sorrow-filled Hero’s Ballad? It depends how you play it, because you cannot hide from the music…

Your song must be played.