I came closer to God this morning. 

One wave crashed over me. First grabbing by the ankle before making it’s way up to my hip, wrenching gently, cushioning the blow so that when it arrived at the back of my head, it wasn’t much more than a soft push. 

The next was less forgiving. I saw it coming with more than enough time to breathe deep, let the board go, cover up my head and prepare for tumble. 

Sometimes preparation isn’t enough. 

This one lashed out at everything. Angry with me and angry at the ocean it came from. Angry that its life was coming to an end in just a few short seconds – determined to take out whatever it could in those brief moments. 

I had to have looked something like a ballerina underneath the surface, one leg outstretched and toe pointed. Spinning, arching, and spinning again.  I could feel the tension of my leash, my board urging me towards shore. 

“Not yet”, I told it. 

I stayed there, dancing, underneath the water. It wasn’t until the ocean let me that I popped my head above the sea to reintroduce my lungs. 

A moment of thanks and then again – preparation. 

This wave wasn’t nearly as large as the two before it. It wasn’t as threatening or vindictive but I was fully in the wrong and the only culpable soul was my own. The wave understood that; I understood that and so we played our roles. 

Abused I resurfaced. Again, the tension of my leash reminding me “The shore is right here. It’s right here.” 

Then nothing. No tension. No call to shore or call to anything. Nothing. 

Mind you, this moment of absence was only a millisecond. Before I was able to consider a snapped leash, or an explanation of any sort, it launched out of the water. Passing rapidly by my face. Brushing my hair. And I watched as it went by. My eyelashes followed its track, blown to the side by its momentum. 

I still can’t be sure that it didn’t hit me directly in the temple. Knocking me unconscious and sinking me to the bottom of the deep. 

Finally, I looked back at the shore that had repeatedly encouraged me and that I’d ignored. I was no longer in the same place I’d paddled out. In fact, I was hundreds of yards away – closer to where I’d come from but further from where I’d started. This could be easily explained by the tide and the current and the unwavering passage of time but still, I couldn’t shake the notion that the trek, from there to here, had happened without me. 

Hours later I still feel it. 

This is about a boy. 

Better yet, a young man. 

This young man’s name is Domo Branch and he’s somebody you’d like to know. 

---

Domo is sixteen and has no toes on his left foot. Domo is sixteen and has no father. Domo is sixteen and is a professional jazz musician in the making.  

When he was only two years old, Domo’s grandmother took him to see the movie Drumline and ever since the day after that day, Domo Branch has been drumming. 

Domo wanted to play ball, but God had a different plan, so he ran over Domo’s foot with a locomotive - effectively ending his Jordan-esque aspirations. That isn’t to say Domo can’t hoop, only that he’s a much better drummer. 

Who would have thought that Nick Cannon and the will of God would be such crucial instruments in the trajectory of this young man’s life.

---

If you were to ask Domo how his talent came to exist, he might mention a mentor like Charlie Brown - a sibling of a friend and now a friend himself. Or Devin Phillips - childhood comrade of Trombone Shorty and displaced New Orleans saxophonist turned Portlandian. But first and foremost Domo would credit himself. He’s been alone a lot and his departed dad’s words echo in his head:

“Shake it off, Deuce. You’re not hurt and you won’t be. People don’t care about this. They might act like they do, but you have to know, this is a lesson to show you the people that do and the people that don’t.”

So Domo drums. 

He cares deeply for the people in his life, each and every one. But he knows his most faithful companion - is Domo.

So Domo drums. 

He’s been hurt before - on more than one occasion. But he’s found healing in jazz. A property of the art he wants others to take solace in. 

So Domo drums. 

He wants to be recognized by jazz artists around the world. He wants to be called upon to teach so he can spread jazz to future maestros. Like Dr. Memory always says, “You can’t keep it unless you give it away!”

So. 

Domo listens. 

He’s resolute because he knows that nothing is promised and that in the face of interference, the drummer stays steady.

Domo drums because he wants you to remember, this is a lesson to show you the people that do and the people that don’t. 

Now. Shake it off, Deuce.

What’s the most important thing we did here? I see it in the reaction of his mother, in his grandmother, and in his own smile. He’s stubborn and guarded and has been for as long as I’ve known him. Only in brief moments, when his mood is right and something unbeknownst to me has prompted him to call, have I seen past his hard exterior. I made a piece about what’s underneath and even that effort felt crafted at times. We talked and I pushed - encouraging him to give me a bit more. Not a lot, but more than he’d extend voluntarily. There’s beauty in what my insistence dragged out of him.

We tend to admire people that love what they do and can’t be bothered with anything else. I tend to wonder “why?”. Those people often aren’t the most well rounded and sometimes, they aren’t even friendly. Ignoring common courtesy. They wear their faults on their sleeves - brazenly, because, again, they can’t be bothered. Yet, I, and many others admire them intensely. Domo Branch is the epitome of the “born to do” character. In my life, I’ve never met someone who I feel such jealousy towards and simultaneously feel so dissimilar. Then I take a step back and again I wonder “why?”. Where do that jealousy and admiration stem from? The ugly truth is they’re one in the same. I am jealous of him because he has a purpose. One thing in this life that he knows he needs to be doing and without question, he does it. I, on the other hand, don’t. Not because I don’t believe in purpose but because for me, as an individual, having one is not what will bring fullness to my life. Therein lies the obvious nature of our differences. With every part of me that wants to be Domo Branch, there are equal and opposite parts that could never fathom being a “born to do-er”. In that dichotomy, lies the meat of this dilemma (friendship) - where do we strike a balance and from that balance why is this relationship, distant as it may be, one of the most important I’ve ever had the pleasure of being in?

I’m not under the impression that there’s an easy answer but I do believe there’s an easy solution. We’ve become close through these differences. I provide things to him that he would never consider given his born-to-do nature and he provides a perspective to me that I can only observe by nurturing someone of his stature. We do this without speaking. It’s been the dynamic of our relationship from the jump and I expect that will continue to be the case until one of us is gone.

That’s what this piece is ultimately about. I injected my perspective into the wisdom he shared with me. To think of it that way is a gift. To share it with people who I love, who he loves, and who love the two of us, is a privilege. Whether those who watch ever understand that this is what Boy Branch is about, isn’t relevant for now. What matters is that we built it together and that our friendship was the foundation.

Everything else is a byproduct of something he and I made collectively and it’s all worth being thankful for.