Memories
February 14, 2007
I knew a guy named Dan.
He was a fellow Bobcat at Jason Lee Junior High in Tacoma. We were never really friends, but we definitely knew who each other was. He was a punk.
Not a jerk, a punk rocker. He was the first one I had ever met. Although I didn’t care much for his musical taste, I admired his dedication. He actually seemed to know what he was talking about too. He wasn’t one of those guys that got piercings and wore the clothes, but had no idea what the movement was about. No, in my junior high mind, he was the quintessential punk.
We moved in some of the same crowds and eventually went to the same high school. This meant that every now and again we would end up at a gathering together, even if that gathering was just four guys skipping class. I always enjoyed talking to him, even if I never fully appreciated his musical tastes.
I moved away from Tacoma the summer before my Junior year. I lost touch with everyone. Some years later, while working at the Moore Theater in Seattle, I bumped into him again. He went on to play bass in a band called Green Apple Quick Step. Not my favorite band, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t any good.
Anyway, in high school, Dan turned me on to Public Image Limited. I always had such disdain for punk rock that I never really gave it a chance. Dan gave me a tape (called Cassette Tape) and I listened to it when no one was around. Much to my surprise (and chagrin), I liked it and listened to it often.
I have owned that same album at least three times since then. It seems to be one of those items that slips through my fingers; I lose it, then buy it again a few years later. I recently purchased it once more (only now it’s called Compact Disc). I still know all the words, well most of them anyway. Tonight I put it on while Carrie was out. By the second tune, Zachary was dancing and singing right along with me. We had a ball. Here I am, pushing forty, in Mali, dancing to PIL with my four year old. I couldn’t help but think of Dan. It’s hard to know what events will bookmark in our minds. Sometimes they are dramatic and sometimes they are as simple as a cassette tape given to an acquaintance.
Fickle things those memories. There is no question in my mind that the above story is true. I remember it like it was yesterday. Yet when I look at the disc I realize that it was released in 1985 and I moved from Tacoma in 1984. That means that the story can’t possibly be true. Strands of events intermix to weave their own story line. How can it be that I have created my own reality? How many more memories like these do I have?
MJR
I knew a guy named Dan.
He was a fellow Bobcat at Jason Lee Junior High in Tacoma. We were never really friends, but we definitely knew who each other was. He was a punk.
Not a jerk, a punk rocker. He was the first one I had ever met. Although I didn’t care much for his musical taste, I admired his dedication. He actually seemed to know what he was talking about too. He wasn’t one of those guys that got piercings and wore the clothes, but had no idea what the movement was about. No, in my junior high mind, he was the quintessential punk.
We moved in some of the same crowds and eventually went to the same high school. This meant that every now and again we would end up at a gathering together, even if that gathering was just four guys skipping class. I always enjoyed talking to him, even if I never fully appreciated his musical tastes.
I moved away from Tacoma the summer before my Junior year. I lost touch with everyone. Some years later, while working at the Moore Theater in Seattle, I bumped into him again. He went on to play bass in a band called Green Apple Quick Step. Not my favorite band, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t any good.
Anyway, in high school, Dan turned me on to Public Image Limited. I always had such disdain for punk rock that I never really gave it a chance. Dan gave me a tape (called Cassette Tape) and I listened to it when no one was around. Much to my surprise (and chagrin), I liked it and listened to it often.
I have owned that same album at least three times since then. It seems to be one of those items that slips through my fingers; I lose it, then buy it again a few years later. I recently purchased it once more (only now it’s called Compact Disc). I still know all the words, well most of them anyway. Tonight I put it on while Carrie was out. By the second tune, Zachary was dancing and singing right along with me. We had a ball. Here I am, pushing forty, in Mali, dancing to PIL with my four year old. I couldn’t help but think of Dan. It’s hard to know what events will bookmark in our minds. Sometimes they are dramatic and sometimes they are as simple as a cassette tape given to an acquaintance.
Fickle things those memories. There is no question in my mind that the above story is true. I remember it like it was yesterday. Yet when I look at the disc I realize that it was released in 1985 and I moved from Tacoma in 1984. That means that the story can’t possibly be true. Strands of events intermix to weave their own story line. How can it be that I have created my own reality? How many more memories like these do I have?
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 10:21 AM
1 Comments:
Dontcha hate it when someone edits your reality? Maybe what you had back then was a demo..... I know I have memories that I remember very clearly, and Eric remembers them completely differently.
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