The boy is gone.
There are no more poetry notebooks.
Sunflower seeds get caught in my dental work.
Cross-country trips don't make me feel like Charles Lindbergh. More like a long-haul trucker hoping to see something he's missed on all the other trips.
To protect my heart, I've quit smoking, and mostly quit singing.
I used to stare at myself in the mirror, thinking: "Who is that?" It's been two decades since I bothered with that shit.
I'm not as funny as I used to be. I've got too much to protect, and too much else to excuse.
I have been richly compensated for these losses, I thought, as I looked at Scout in the rear view mirror this morning, the love songs I listened to in college all around us, and tried to hide my tears as she looked at me back.
I opened my mouth and the boy's voice came out and sang.
He and I are off for two weeks, rambling through Wisconsin and Michigan on my Triumph, and then shambling around Colorado and California with my Scout.
Back in a bit.
James Taylor and Carole King — I was just starting college. And Carly Simon singing “You’re So Vain.” (Taylor and King are actually performing this week in St. Louis.)
Quitting smoking is good — for you and for Scout. Quitting singing (even mostly) is not. Sing, David. She’ll remember it forever.
I’m singing, I’m singing. See JT and CK if you can, Glynn; or at least get the CD. It’s really fine.
Dear David,
1. I’ll send you a new poetry notebook. You should never be without one.
2. Please don’t stop asking “Who is that?” Just be okay with all your answers, including “I have no fucking idea.”
3. The road ahead, the rearview mirror… Not separate, and not a balance sheet. You can have both.
4. Sing, boy, sing!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpW0r8BT6Rg
(Well, your sappy/lovely post asked for sap back!)
I’m taking a sharp turn, but I misread your first sentence, and thought about the album that impacted me when I first went away to camp.
It was 1969, and a slightly older boy scout trumped my “Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. 2” cassette by launching the newly released, “Tommy” by the Who.
Lay, Lady, Lay? Come on! He was a pin ball wizzard!
We sang our throats out, and then rejuvenated them with grape bug-juice. (So, yes David, keep singing!)
I also was mesmerized by Charles Manson’s murder spree. When I returned home after a two-week trip to Owasippe Scout Reservation in Twin Lake, MI, my first question was, “What happened here (home) when I was gone?” My second question, “What’s new with the Manson murders?” caused my mom and older brother to pause and look at me as though I were an imbecile. It was good to be home!
“how sweet it is, to be loved by you…”
see you soon, bro!
beautiful! i enjoyed reading your post! this is so amazing! lovely to read it. thanks!
i went to the same school as patrick. i remeber those girls from my school who wrote in. they were white trash…i always felt so bad for them.
I recently came across your blog and have been reading along. I thought I would leave my first comment. I don’t know what to say except that I have enjoyed reading. Nice blog. I will keep visiting this blog very often.
Liked you on Facebook, too. =)