Frank sat dejectedly in his room, grounded by all the times he mischievously claimed innocence. But those past discretions had gone unnoticed neither by his hysterically laughing parents nor by indifferently passing time. He changed the channel on the 35” LCD Samsung television he received as a gift on his last birthday to a game show he used to watch. The host wooed contestants with his melodic voice; he grinned with mocking omnipotence at their nearly unbelievable ignorance. Frank’s finger found the menu button, and he scanned the other billion channels that were playing nothing of note. He considered a war movie but decided he wasn’t in the mood. The television thus landed on the NFL Network; he watched as the overconfident Joe Namath relived his greatest moment and changed the game of football forever.
The television neglected to hold Frank’s interest for long. Instead, he daydreamed, as was his custom, about his childhood. He had played basketball in the schoolyard every chance he had and until his mother rang the bell she had installed for the purpose of calling him back home. He rarely listened to that bell. But when he heard ‘Francis Morgan Flanagan’ he knew it was time to go. In the winters, he ventured to the pond on the other side of town with his skates and stick ready to lay people out on the ice. He played and joked and traded barbs for hours, occasionally even going toe to toe with a newcomer. He didn’t win those fights often, but his tenacity earned him respect.
A knock came at his door, startling him. ‘Come in,’ he said feebly.
‘We’re taking off for a little while. Stay in here until we get back.’
‘Where else am I going to go?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘We’ll be right back,’ she said, ignoring his commentary. She shut the door behind her.
He heard the car start and then zoom away. He felt the fire of his teenage angst, stoked as it was by the interchange he had just had. The television crooned about the Steel Curtain, but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he planned his escape. He knew where the keys were hidden, and he remembered the neighborhood well enough. They weren’t going to keep him locked up.
Frank went into the master bedroom and fished out the spare key from the top drawer of the bureau. He slipped on a sweatshirt and some sweats. He slowly navigated the stairs into the basement and opened the garage door. He peaked outside to survey the area. Sometimes, they enlisted the neighbors to spy. But there were no cars around that he could see. He slinked into the driver’s side, inserted the key in the ignition, and started the car. His lead foot revved the engine.
He pulled out faster than he intended and stopped hard; he shifted and slammed his foot on the gas again, barely missing the mailbox as he turned. He stopped again and fastened his seatbelt. His foot found the gas pedal a third time but was more gentle. He took a right on Ramble Drive and made his way to Farm Run Road. It once had farms on it, not the he remembered, but the land had since been converted into suburban sprawl.
With fits and starts, Frank made his way to the town where he grew up. Once there, he sought out the house where he had lived and the court on which he had played. When he found them, he reflected on how different they looked. He didn’t linger long. Instead, he traveled to the other side of town to the pond on which he had played hockey. He was surprised to find the pond smaller than he remembered, not to mention polluted. He got out of the car and rounded the lake. He sat on a decrepit green bench. The cool breeze floating through the trees soon put him to sleep.
‘Sir. Excuse me, sir,’ came a young man’s voice. ‘Sir, can you hear me?’
‘Huh, what, yeah?’ Frank stammered.
‘Sir, can you hear me?’
‘What? Who are you? Where am I?’
‘Sir, I’m going to call an ambulance.’ The young gentleman placed the navy blue jacket over him. ‘Sir, do you understand?’
Frank nodded and shivered uncontrollably. The sweatshirt and sweats were little comfort in 20 degree weather.
Soon, the flashing red and white lights approached. In an out of consciousness, Frank struggled to understand what had happened. In what seemed to be his next conscious moment, he opened his eyes to a familiar face, although much older than he remembered it.
‘Dad, I told you to stay at home. You can’t drive anymore. You just can’t.’ She seemed on the verge of tears.
‘Don’t worry, pumpkin, daddy’s here,’ he tried his best to comfort her. ‘I just wanted to go play hockey with the boys.’ He smiled his gregarious smile and then slipped again into unconsciousness.
He heard, then, a bell. ‘Just a few minutes more,’ he told his friends, ‘until I hear my name.’
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Princess for a Day
She listened to Vanessa describe the black guy she met the night before at a bar in Orlando. They danced, drank, and disappeared leaving Cynthia alone in the bar to fend for herself. Cynthia just wanted to make sure the cab ride she had to take was worth it.
'What was his name? Did you go back to his place?' she inquired.
'His name's LaTerryan and he said he has roommates?'
'LaTerryan? Honestly?' She paused to chuckle. 'I'll bet he has a girlfriend.'
'No.'
'You sure?'
'Yeah,' she replied hesitantly.
'No?'
'How should I know? I just met him.'
'Didn't you ask?'
'Well, no.'
Tony Sala, their boss, walked into the room. The girls ceased their conversation.
'Yous girls ready?' he asked with his thick Italian accent. The Mickey Mouse on his shirt jiggled in conjunction with Tony's massive stomach.
'Yeah,' they answered in disinterested unison.
'They're out there. Go make 'em feel happy to be here. Who's readin the names?' Tony handed Vanessa the sheet of paper with fifteen names.
They traded uncertain glances.
Vanessa spoke first, 'I did it last Friday.'
'There were like two kids. Let me see, are there any retarded names?'
Vanessa gave a quick glance, 'Kevin, Brittany, Phil, Jacob, Sarah. They all look legit to me.'
Tony chimed in, 'I don't care who does it. You can take turns for all I care. But right now, you're wastin Mickey's time.' He pointed to Mickey's left ear with his sausage fingers. 'It's Disney time, girls.' His attempt at excitement always came off as sarcasm at best.
'Fine, I'll do it,' Cynthia yanked the page from Vanessa's hand less gently than she wanted and tore the paper slightly. They walked by Tony, who smelled of garlic and Old Spice.
They entered a small auditorium where a dozen families - each with at least one child between the ages of 4-10 - sat in small segregated clusters. The male children sported plastic golden crowns; the females children wore bejeweled silver tiaras.
Vanessa began, 'Welcome one and all to your kingdom, where you will be princes and princesses for a day. My assistant Vanessa will introduce you to your subjects,' she motioned to Cynthia.
'I request that each prince and princess step forward when I call your name to be rightly honored,' Cynthia announced disinterestedly.
'Welcome, Prince Philip.' She waited for the young boy to walk up to the stage to receive his plaque from Vanessa. 'Welcome, Princess Sarah. Welcome, Princess Brittany. Welcome, Prince Kevin.' She looked close at the next name, 'Welcome Princess LaTonya.' She looked up to watch the girl make her way up to the stage.
Vanessa lost her spot on the page, which just so happened to be the small portion of the paper that was ripped. She studied the page, feeling the awkward pause growing in the auditorium.
'Welcome, Princess...' She looked at the word and had no idea. She didn't care enough to try too hard. 'Welcome, Princess Shady Nasty!' she exclaimed with more energy than usual. No one immediately moved.
After the pause, an obviously indignant black woman stood and called out to Cynthia - and to the other 'royalty' and their family - 'Her name's ShaDynasty!'
'What was his name? Did you go back to his place?' she inquired.
'His name's LaTerryan and he said he has roommates?'
'LaTerryan? Honestly?' She paused to chuckle. 'I'll bet he has a girlfriend.'
'No.'
'You sure?'
'Yeah,' she replied hesitantly.
'No?'
'How should I know? I just met him.'
'Didn't you ask?'
'Well, no.'
Tony Sala, their boss, walked into the room. The girls ceased their conversation.
'Yous girls ready?' he asked with his thick Italian accent. The Mickey Mouse on his shirt jiggled in conjunction with Tony's massive stomach.
'Yeah,' they answered in disinterested unison.
'They're out there. Go make 'em feel happy to be here. Who's readin the names?' Tony handed Vanessa the sheet of paper with fifteen names.
They traded uncertain glances.
Vanessa spoke first, 'I did it last Friday.'
'There were like two kids. Let me see, are there any retarded names?'
Vanessa gave a quick glance, 'Kevin, Brittany, Phil, Jacob, Sarah. They all look legit to me.'
Tony chimed in, 'I don't care who does it. You can take turns for all I care. But right now, you're wastin Mickey's time.' He pointed to Mickey's left ear with his sausage fingers. 'It's Disney time, girls.' His attempt at excitement always came off as sarcasm at best.
'Fine, I'll do it,' Cynthia yanked the page from Vanessa's hand less gently than she wanted and tore the paper slightly. They walked by Tony, who smelled of garlic and Old Spice.
They entered a small auditorium where a dozen families - each with at least one child between the ages of 4-10 - sat in small segregated clusters. The male children sported plastic golden crowns; the females children wore bejeweled silver tiaras.
Vanessa began, 'Welcome one and all to your kingdom, where you will be princes and princesses for a day. My assistant Vanessa will introduce you to your subjects,' she motioned to Cynthia.
'I request that each prince and princess step forward when I call your name to be rightly honored,' Cynthia announced disinterestedly.
'Welcome, Prince Philip.' She waited for the young boy to walk up to the stage to receive his plaque from Vanessa. 'Welcome, Princess Sarah. Welcome, Princess Brittany. Welcome, Prince Kevin.' She looked close at the next name, 'Welcome Princess LaTonya.' She looked up to watch the girl make her way up to the stage.
Vanessa lost her spot on the page, which just so happened to be the small portion of the paper that was ripped. She studied the page, feeling the awkward pause growing in the auditorium.
'Welcome, Princess...' She looked at the word and had no idea. She didn't care enough to try too hard. 'Welcome, Princess Shady Nasty!' she exclaimed with more energy than usual. No one immediately moved.
After the pause, an obviously indignant black woman stood and called out to Cynthia - and to the other 'royalty' and their family - 'Her name's ShaDynasty!'
Sunday, December 19, 2010
A Kosher Christmas
‘I’m not feeling much in a Christmas mood,’ Alex explained to his Jewish co-worker. ‘I’ve never not had a tree until this year. I don’t even have decorations. I tried to watch White Christmas and some of those clay-mation classics, but nothing seems to work. I’m not sure what to do.’ Alex was new to the neighborhood after moving from a city half way across the continent.
The young Jewish man, David, chuckled a bit. ‘Having never celebrated Christmas, I suppose I can’t really know how that feels. Well, I’m taking off for a nice long weekend. Have a happy holiday.’ David moved down the hallway and passed through the double doors that lead back to his desk.
Alex walked back to his office and sat at his chair. He stared blankly at his monitor, which showed him all the emails to which he needed to respond. People had ceased walking by his door; the office had become a ghost town. He contemplated working more so as not to have so much work on his plate when he returned, but he decided against it. Instead, his fingers guided the mouse to shut down the machine. He packed his things and walked back to the apartment.
The train he intended to catch had long since departed; the next few were after 7 p.m. His cell phone buzzed again, revealing an unhappy sister who had waited at the station for a half hour before calling it quits and heading back home. He picked up the phone and finally typed a reply. ‘Not coming home. Something came up. Merry Christmas!’ That was it; there was no further explanation.
A short time later, he received a text in return. It simply read, ‘Whatever…’ He turned off the phone.
Alex sat wallowing in his apartment watching Cops and Mythbusters. He sipped on a Coors Light and popped bagged popcorn into his mouth. Sleep gradually crept into his eyes.
Alex vaguely heard the knock; the doorbell, however, was unmistakable. The clock read 11 p.m. He grumbled angrily to himself, ‘Christmas Eve, really?’ and looked into the peephole. On the other side of the door stood David, his Jewish co-worker. Alex opened the door, and David immediately stepped into the apartment.
‘What are you doing here?’ Alex inquired.
‘I needed a place to go.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘I’d rather not discuss. Can I stay for a bit, maybe overnight?’
‘Well, come in and we’ll figure something out.’
David moved to the couch and sat.
‘Can I offer you something to drink?’ Alex asked. ‘I’ve got beer, juice, water…’
‘Water sounds good. Thanks.’
Alex poured the water and got himself another beer. He sat in the opposite end of the couch.
‘So, what are you watching?’ David asked.
Alex replied, ‘I don’t really know; I’ve been asleep for a little.’
‘Sorry that I woke you. I didn’t expect you to be here, but I had to try.’
‘Where did you think I’d be? And how do you know where I live anyway?’
‘Well, it’s easy to find out where people live. And I thought you’d be at your sister’s.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I overheard a conversation you were having at work.’
Alex considered when he had discussed his Christmas plans at work. Since he was new, he had spoken to very few people about anything including the holidays. But he could have said something in passing to someone. He decided to let it go.
They sat in silence for a time.
‘Why didn’t you go to your sister’s?’
‘I didn’t want to deal with my family,’ he answered.
‘Family can certainly be challenging. But they do love you.’
‘Blah, bah, blah. They’re all about guilt and competition. Why would I want to volunteer for that? My sister’s constantly on my case about not being in contact. My brother always makes comments about the gifts I buy. Mom has just about given up on me; she’d decided that what I’m trying to do is a stupid pipe dream. So, why? Answer me that.’
‘They’re family.’
‘Cop out response. Why aren’t you with yours instead of with me?’
‘My family’s dead.’
‘Oh. Sorry. You don’t have a wife?’
‘Had a wife. And a kid. A while ago.’
‘It couldn’t have been that long ago; you’re pretty young.’
David didn’t respond.
‘Anyway, I just get frustrated. It’s like I’m not at all good enough for them, not who they want me to be.’
‘You’re not who they want you to be. And that’s okay. That’s a lesson for them to learn.’
‘Well, I’d rather they learn that lesson before I learn my own.’
‘Why not be the bigger man?’
‘Why do I have to start? Why is it that I’m the one who has the responsibility of keeping in contact? Why is it that it’s on me and not on them?’
‘I never said it wasn’t on them. But it’s on you too.’
‘Yeah, cop out. So why are you here again? A Jew giving advice to a former Christian on Christmas Eve? Seems kinda strange. What happened to your nice long weekend?’
‘This is as good a way as any to spend a nice long weekend.’
‘So, what were you originally planning?’
‘This.’
‘This, what?’
‘I get to chat with you. And to travel.’
‘Travel?’
‘There’s still another train that you can catch.’
‘What?’
‘Another train. At the station. You can still catch it.’
‘Okay, great. But there’s no way for me to get back to my sister’s from there. And I already said I’m not going back.’ He stood and walked to the closet. ‘Here’s a blanket and a pillow you can use. I’m going to bed.’ Alex turned and walked into his room, closed his door, and readied for bed. He heard the bathroom door close and the toilet flush. There was a bit more rustling, and then silence. He considered what David has said and decided he just wasn’t ready to deal with his family. With that, he made one final wish, a tradition he and his siblings had shared for as long as he could remember, and he fell asleep.
The next morning, Alex walked out into his living area to find a small decorated tree and a strand of lines streaming about the apartment. The floors were spotless, his detritus neatly organized in the corner. In the small kitchen, David was handling a few large plates.
‘What are you doing?’ Alex asked.
‘I figured we could have a nice Christmas meal.’
‘But you don’t celebrate Christmas. And where did you get all this stuff between last night and today? Everything’s closed.’
‘You live in a huge city during a time when capitalism is king. Not to mention there are more Jews here than anywhere except Israel. There are plenty of places open. As long as you don’t mind kosher food.’ He smiled. ‘Merry Christmas, Alex.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because I understand the importance of a special day. And you shouldn’t be spending it alone.’
‘Fine,’ he said with resignation. Alex entered the kitchen and looked around. ‘There’s enough food to feed an army.’
‘I thought we could eat and then bring the rest to a shelter. Not to mention leftovers that both of us can have.’
Alex asked what he could do to help, and David put him to work on cooking some vegetables and making a salad. David put on National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Alex’s favorite Christmas movie, and they shared some holiday laughter.
At about noon, David slapped a hand to his forehead and said, ‘I can’t believe I forgot the wine.’
‘A little late now,’ commented Alex.
‘Nah, but I’ll have to travel a bit. I’ll be back in a bit. I know a place where I can get it. A nice Cabernet will go beautifully with the ham.’
He exited, leaving Alex to watch the finale of A Christmas Story.
About an hour later, Alex heard the buzzer sound, and he rang David up. There soon came a knock at the door.
‘Enter,’ Alex replied.
The door opened, and Alex’s family spilled into the apartment. In his mother’s right hand, a bottle of cabernet.
‘A bottle of wine for the new homeowner. I guess it’s about time we made the effort. So, what is that wonderful smell?’
Alex smiled. ‘Merry Christmas everyone. Make yourselves at home.’
The young Jewish man, David, chuckled a bit. ‘Having never celebrated Christmas, I suppose I can’t really know how that feels. Well, I’m taking off for a nice long weekend. Have a happy holiday.’ David moved down the hallway and passed through the double doors that lead back to his desk.
Alex walked back to his office and sat at his chair. He stared blankly at his monitor, which showed him all the emails to which he needed to respond. People had ceased walking by his door; the office had become a ghost town. He contemplated working more so as not to have so much work on his plate when he returned, but he decided against it. Instead, his fingers guided the mouse to shut down the machine. He packed his things and walked back to the apartment.
The train he intended to catch had long since departed; the next few were after 7 p.m. His cell phone buzzed again, revealing an unhappy sister who had waited at the station for a half hour before calling it quits and heading back home. He picked up the phone and finally typed a reply. ‘Not coming home. Something came up. Merry Christmas!’ That was it; there was no further explanation.
A short time later, he received a text in return. It simply read, ‘Whatever…’ He turned off the phone.
Alex sat wallowing in his apartment watching Cops and Mythbusters. He sipped on a Coors Light and popped bagged popcorn into his mouth. Sleep gradually crept into his eyes.
Alex vaguely heard the knock; the doorbell, however, was unmistakable. The clock read 11 p.m. He grumbled angrily to himself, ‘Christmas Eve, really?’ and looked into the peephole. On the other side of the door stood David, his Jewish co-worker. Alex opened the door, and David immediately stepped into the apartment.
‘What are you doing here?’ Alex inquired.
‘I needed a place to go.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘I’d rather not discuss. Can I stay for a bit, maybe overnight?’
‘Well, come in and we’ll figure something out.’
David moved to the couch and sat.
‘Can I offer you something to drink?’ Alex asked. ‘I’ve got beer, juice, water…’
‘Water sounds good. Thanks.’
Alex poured the water and got himself another beer. He sat in the opposite end of the couch.
‘So, what are you watching?’ David asked.
Alex replied, ‘I don’t really know; I’ve been asleep for a little.’
‘Sorry that I woke you. I didn’t expect you to be here, but I had to try.’
‘Where did you think I’d be? And how do you know where I live anyway?’
‘Well, it’s easy to find out where people live. And I thought you’d be at your sister’s.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I overheard a conversation you were having at work.’
Alex considered when he had discussed his Christmas plans at work. Since he was new, he had spoken to very few people about anything including the holidays. But he could have said something in passing to someone. He decided to let it go.
They sat in silence for a time.
‘Why didn’t you go to your sister’s?’
‘I didn’t want to deal with my family,’ he answered.
‘Family can certainly be challenging. But they do love you.’
‘Blah, bah, blah. They’re all about guilt and competition. Why would I want to volunteer for that? My sister’s constantly on my case about not being in contact. My brother always makes comments about the gifts I buy. Mom has just about given up on me; she’d decided that what I’m trying to do is a stupid pipe dream. So, why? Answer me that.’
‘They’re family.’
‘Cop out response. Why aren’t you with yours instead of with me?’
‘My family’s dead.’
‘Oh. Sorry. You don’t have a wife?’
‘Had a wife. And a kid. A while ago.’
‘It couldn’t have been that long ago; you’re pretty young.’
David didn’t respond.
‘Anyway, I just get frustrated. It’s like I’m not at all good enough for them, not who they want me to be.’
‘You’re not who they want you to be. And that’s okay. That’s a lesson for them to learn.’
‘Well, I’d rather they learn that lesson before I learn my own.’
‘Why not be the bigger man?’
‘Why do I have to start? Why is it that I’m the one who has the responsibility of keeping in contact? Why is it that it’s on me and not on them?’
‘I never said it wasn’t on them. But it’s on you too.’
‘Yeah, cop out. So why are you here again? A Jew giving advice to a former Christian on Christmas Eve? Seems kinda strange. What happened to your nice long weekend?’
‘This is as good a way as any to spend a nice long weekend.’
‘So, what were you originally planning?’
‘This.’
‘This, what?’
‘I get to chat with you. And to travel.’
‘Travel?’
‘There’s still another train that you can catch.’
‘What?’
‘Another train. At the station. You can still catch it.’
‘Okay, great. But there’s no way for me to get back to my sister’s from there. And I already said I’m not going back.’ He stood and walked to the closet. ‘Here’s a blanket and a pillow you can use. I’m going to bed.’ Alex turned and walked into his room, closed his door, and readied for bed. He heard the bathroom door close and the toilet flush. There was a bit more rustling, and then silence. He considered what David has said and decided he just wasn’t ready to deal with his family. With that, he made one final wish, a tradition he and his siblings had shared for as long as he could remember, and he fell asleep.
The next morning, Alex walked out into his living area to find a small decorated tree and a strand of lines streaming about the apartment. The floors were spotless, his detritus neatly organized in the corner. In the small kitchen, David was handling a few large plates.
‘What are you doing?’ Alex asked.
‘I figured we could have a nice Christmas meal.’
‘But you don’t celebrate Christmas. And where did you get all this stuff between last night and today? Everything’s closed.’
‘You live in a huge city during a time when capitalism is king. Not to mention there are more Jews here than anywhere except Israel. There are plenty of places open. As long as you don’t mind kosher food.’ He smiled. ‘Merry Christmas, Alex.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because I understand the importance of a special day. And you shouldn’t be spending it alone.’
‘Fine,’ he said with resignation. Alex entered the kitchen and looked around. ‘There’s enough food to feed an army.’
‘I thought we could eat and then bring the rest to a shelter. Not to mention leftovers that both of us can have.’
Alex asked what he could do to help, and David put him to work on cooking some vegetables and making a salad. David put on National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Alex’s favorite Christmas movie, and they shared some holiday laughter.
At about noon, David slapped a hand to his forehead and said, ‘I can’t believe I forgot the wine.’
‘A little late now,’ commented Alex.
‘Nah, but I’ll have to travel a bit. I’ll be back in a bit. I know a place where I can get it. A nice Cabernet will go beautifully with the ham.’
He exited, leaving Alex to watch the finale of A Christmas Story.
About an hour later, Alex heard the buzzer sound, and he rang David up. There soon came a knock at the door.
‘Enter,’ Alex replied.
The door opened, and Alex’s family spilled into the apartment. In his mother’s right hand, a bottle of cabernet.
‘A bottle of wine for the new homeowner. I guess it’s about time we made the effort. So, what is that wonderful smell?’
Alex smiled. ‘Merry Christmas everyone. Make yourselves at home.’
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Haiku Hai: A Satur Day
I started the day
Wielding a black controller,
Beating the bad guys.
I slept a few hours.
Fleeting dreams of the future
Rarely remembered.
I woke with big plans,
But wielded the controller,
Beating the bad guys.
Then I made a call.
A foreign cell phone woke him.
The card didn’t last.
We struggled with Skype,
The sound and picture, suspect.
Hours passed like minutes.
I strode down Thompson.
An ancient barber cut me.
I paid him for it.
So many Santas,
They stumbled down the sidewalks.
Such jolly drunkards.
Ate at the Grey Dog.
In the door, a pending grade.
Not sick as a dog.
Came back home to work.
Watching Madmen episodes.
Can’t help but wonder.
I’m considering
Wielding the black controller,
Beating the bad guys.
Wielding a black controller,
Beating the bad guys.
I slept a few hours.
Fleeting dreams of the future
Rarely remembered.
I woke with big plans,
But wielded the controller,
Beating the bad guys.
Then I made a call.
A foreign cell phone woke him.
The card didn’t last.
We struggled with Skype,
The sound and picture, suspect.
Hours passed like minutes.
I strode down Thompson.
An ancient barber cut me.
I paid him for it.
So many Santas,
They stumbled down the sidewalks.
Such jolly drunkards.
Ate at the Grey Dog.
In the door, a pending grade.
Not sick as a dog.
Came back home to work.
Watching Madmen episodes.
Can’t help but wonder.
I’m considering
Wielding the black controller,
Beating the bad guys.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Historicality: Peace Lost Its Chance
The year was 1980. The Empire Strikes Back hit movie theaters. Solidarity was established in Poland. And Ronald Reagan defeated Jimmy Carter to become the 40th president. Civil Rights and Woodstock were but fleeting memories in the minds of the aging hippies and nascent yuppies. It was a turning point, a time when the free flowing, sometimes drug induced ideas of the 60s and 70s gave way to a more pragmatic and realistic conservatism. An era of romanticism had come to an end.
The year 1980 also marked my first memory, one of those snippets from youth that I recall vividly. I was a little more than three years old. I was at my grandparents' house, though for what reason I couldn't say. Someone was on the phone. I don't remember who, though I'd guess it was my grandfather. It was a rotary phone in those days. And the only one in the house. One of those phones that was attached to the wall, a little too high for a three year old to reach. My grandmother called me from the hallway; she was moving a kitchen chair beneath the phone, obviously intending that I was to speak with whomever was on the other end. I stepped onto the chair and prepared the line that my grandparents had relayed. I heard an unusually melancholy voice say hello on the other end. And then, I said my piece, 'I'm sorry about John Lemmon.'
It has been 30 years since the world changed. Since another era of romanticism waned into nothingness. And today marks 30 years since the actualization of that romantic era's symbolic death. Though it might not have been the day the music died, it was the day that peace lost its chance.
The year 1980 also marked my first memory, one of those snippets from youth that I recall vividly. I was a little more than three years old. I was at my grandparents' house, though for what reason I couldn't say. Someone was on the phone. I don't remember who, though I'd guess it was my grandfather. It was a rotary phone in those days. And the only one in the house. One of those phones that was attached to the wall, a little too high for a three year old to reach. My grandmother called me from the hallway; she was moving a kitchen chair beneath the phone, obviously intending that I was to speak with whomever was on the other end. I stepped onto the chair and prepared the line that my grandparents had relayed. I heard an unusually melancholy voice say hello on the other end. And then, I said my piece, 'I'm sorry about John Lemmon.'
It has been 30 years since the world changed. Since another era of romanticism waned into nothingness. And today marks 30 years since the actualization of that romantic era's symbolic death. Though it might not have been the day the music died, it was the day that peace lost its chance.
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