Brad Kunz – Drums
Brad is a Drumaholic. Like others with this condition, he will always have a drumming problem.
Brad was advised to get help from a support group where he could talk with others suffering from this insidious condition. He was told the time and place where the other wretched souls like himself sought to find whatever comfort could be derived from at least knowing that they ‘are not alone’. As he verified the address, it took courage to open that door, more courage in fact than he thought he could ever muster! But his life was in chaos, and had been for some time. After all, he had nothing to lose. He had hit ‘rock’ bottom. (get it?)
Oh sure, he tried to quit many times before. He even thought he could go ‘cold turkey.’ In desperation he even tried the patches, Twice! But to no avail. All too soon he had to face the reality that the problem was bigger than he was, and that he would quickly drift back into the same bad habits that dragged him down into this emotional glue trap he found himself eternally stuck in.
The shame and self-disgust almost overpowered Brad as he exited his dilapidated Chrysler K-Car, verified the address for the Drummers Anonymous Support Group meeting, and reluctantly sauntered up the root-fractured concrete walkway towards what seemed to be his last chance for potential normalcy. Slowly reaching the top of the stairway he felt an almost animalistic force welling up from somewhere deep within the very bowels of his pathetic existence, a primal power of such unparalleled magnitude, that he later described as only being accurately measured on the Richter Scale! (Oh yeah, I failed to mention that it made him want to bolt and run.)
But intellectually he knew that he must fight the desire for flight if he were to break the self-destructive pattern he had unwittingly paved for himself. After taking a deep cleansing breath he cautiously opened the ample, yet weathered door and gingerly stepped in.
It was startling for him to find himself the apparent center of attention, standing at the front of the meeting room with the eyes of all the regular attending members focused on himself, ‘the new guy’. The dialog went something like this: [Brad] “Hello, my name is Brad, and I have a drumming problem.” [D A S G] “Hello Brad.” Then the group leader said: “Welcome Brad. Brad, why don’t you tell the group a little about yourself?” [Brad] “Well, . . . I guess it first started when I was in second grade. I remember the teacher passing out instruments from the instrument box and I was instantly drawn to the hand cymbals. She would never let me play them, instead she always handed me the drum, as if I was the only kid who could keep a beat. So I did what I was told, never realizing the heavy price I would have to pay in my later years.”
