In my previous post you read of my four or five impressionable years leading up to college. I trained myself to dress, talk, think, and process culture just like Bart, a neighborhood alpha dog who had invited me into his musical project. It seemed like a fair exchange: I learned his mannerisms and acquired his tastes, in return for a better place (at least, so I thought) in the local pecking order. But it was only my entry point into my musical journey of self-discovery.
Dominic, a university classmate, had befriended me and began to lead me astray. After listening to some of his music, Dominic began inviting me out to a rich scene of live jazz and blues, styles I had shied away from because they strayed from Bart’s indoctrination of me.
I met people who dressed differently, talked differently, had different tastes and values from the world Bart had included me in. I liked these people, even if I didn’t share all their values.
I was aware of the battle being waged for my attention. Bart was always kind, even protective of me once we began our musical collaboration. It was a genuine friendship. Those are hard to quit. And my wandering interests felt like I was betraying him.
I’d be driving alone, debating myself over what to listen to in the car with Bart on one shoulder, and Dominic on the other. “Listen to this!” “No, go over to 93.5 FM!” “Really? That’s just formula music!”
Then college was over. I joined the United States military. Having gone to school in my hometown, I was now truly on my own for the first time. No Bart to anchor me, no Dominic to challenge me. But there was Texas. And Oklahoma, Indiana and Ohio. No escaping near-constant country and western music! A foreign experience for this city kid.
Two years passed and still, I had not learned the hot country dances of the era – the Cotton-Eyed Joe and Texas Two Step. Then I found the nerve deep down in a place I never knew existed, to ask out the daughter of our base commander – a Texas girl. In one night, she had me dancing like I’d been doing it all my life. Two days later, I was shipped out overseas. Never saw her or heard from her again after that evening of dancing and laughing.
But she had made her impact. Four hours of a musical experience I had always shunned.
I’m 65 years old as write this, and still learning from new experiences. Still discovering new things about me. Maybe you’re thinking, “65 and still learning what you like?! How can that be good?”
To keep it short, let’s stick to music. Today, I can appreciate any music done well. There are no longer Bart and Dominic angels arguing for my musical attention. And certain bands I eschewed as a kid – I hear their enduring music today and it’s like discovering greatness for the first time. Making my own decisions without limiting myself to what others try to decide for me - that's a triumph. And, in the process, understanding that I don’t have to keep deciding things today the way I did yesterday.
A few years ago I returned to my hometown – I go back often – but on this particular occasion I made it a point to find Bart. Through social media, I learned that he was still singing, and making a living at it.
We hadn’t seen each other in decades.
When he saw me walk into the room, he almost dropped his microphone. He shouted my name. When his set was done, we hugged a big man hug, and spent some time catching up.
Bart’s legacy to my life is something I’ll always treasure. When I hear the old songs we used to perform, I always think of him and the times we had, and smile. Especially since I've learned this lesson: we can visit the past, even celebrate it. But we don't have to be stuck in it.
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