I’d love to say that my first thoughts took me to the higher, more philosophical road. The journey I’m on, the journey on which God is leading me, the journey we all share on this earth. But no. Instead, music started blaring in my ears (even my half-deaf one) and I heard my mom holler upstairs, “Turn that down!”
Even though I’m a product of the 70s, it still seems strange to me that in order to find the music I grew up with, I have to turn to things like “oldies” or classic rock stations. But those were the albums I saved up for, the music I loved, and the music I still turn to when I want to sing at the top of my lungs while cleaning house. REO Speedwagon, Styx, Foreigner, Journey. Back in the day it wasn’t considered strange – or ever dangerous – to sit outside the record store all night with my friends, waiting for tickets to go on sale. Today, the very idea seems ridiculous. A bunch of kids in the middle of the night, with known cash in their pockets? I don’t think so.
It started when I was in junior high. The music, the posters in the bedroom, and the crushes. My crush fantasies were only intensified by the fact that I shared the last name of the lead singer for one of the bands. In junior high, I actually had people believing me when I said that he was my second cousin. Later, I cursed myself for not making him my third cousin because then I could’ve married him. Yeah, that was the only problem with my scenario. I ‘fessed up soon enough but my “family” loyalty remained true, through seeing them in concert half a dozen times (it used to be fairly affordable) and today having a Pandora station and a Sirius tab for that time in my life.
The music of my youth creates one of the most obvious paths between then and now. It equalizes the time between the woman I am now and the girl back inside the concert arena. Even now when I’m listening to this music, sometimes it’s all I can do not to raise a Bic lighter high in the air as a sign of my appreciation and affection. In gratitude for the journey.