And while we’re on the subject

12 01 2009

I distinctly connect certain songs with certain moments of my life.  Two songs in particular have been on my mind today, but I’ll stick to one of them for now:

Someday — Michael W. Smith, “I’ll Lead You Home” (1995).  *This whole album actually rocked my world throughout ’95-’98, but onward and upward.

At some point in elementary school, my mom started driving some of us kids to Crux climbing gym in San Luis on a regular basis.  I think we got some sort of discount through our school group, but I can’t swear to that.  Mainly because swearing on the internet is like peeing in the ocean.  You can do it, but if people you know find out, they’re less likely to go swimming with you.  Which isn’t really a big deal, since I don’t enjoy swimming all that much.  I like floating.  And diving.  Duck diving especially, although one time I think I may have almost died while doing that, which is why I’m not a big fan of seas in general.  Also, sharks.  Did you know the Caspian Sea is the world’s largest lake?  Did you know that in the Walden Media adaptation of C.S. Lewis’s Prince Caspian, Susan makes out with some guy towards the end?  Yeah, well, she does.  Which is either totally heretical to Clive’s intent, or totally consistent with the fact that he sends Susan to hell in The Last Battle. Well, sort of.  You have to read it to really get the feel for it.  I have them, but it’s an older collection that is kind of falling apart, and, to be honest, I don’t think you’ll take good care of them.  Go to a library.

So there we are, driving to Crux, and I’m around 10 or so.  I have recently acquired a pair of blue built-in radio headphones, which also doubled as loudspeakers to anyone sitting nearby, despite my aversion to listening to music loudly.  (I’m paranoid about hearing loss)  I remember listening to K-Life 89.3, which my mom was not a fan of in those days, in hopes of hearing either Someday or On My Way to Paradise, by Bob Carlisle.  As I listen to it now (after a little digging), I have no idea what attraction the latter held for me.  The guy’s voice is insufferable, and the lyrics are worthy of more eye-rolling than my out-of-shape retinas can muster.

So yeah, I was hoping to hear one of those songs on my cool headphones, and joy of joys, Good ol’ Carlisle began to fill my ears — when Juel (or perhaps Kathrene, but I’m fairly certain that Juel was more of a tattletale in those days) declared, “Robert’s listening to KLife!” in an accusatory tone to my mother.  I, of course, less-than-surreptitiously jerked the dial (located on my left ear) and declared that I was listening to the Dodger game.  Although I didn’t quite realize it, I was actually in good company for such a ploy, as neither my mom nor my sisters were astute enough to realize that Dem Bums probably weren’t cavorting about the pitch at 9:20 in the morning.  Unfortunately, my mom did what any good mom did, and declared that no one would be listening to anything if we couldn’t get along.  Then she told me to turn my headphones down, clearly insinuating that I, at my ripe old age, was entitled to make whatever choices I deemed virtuous, so long as my whiny sisters didn’t know.  Oh, the luxuries of being the favored child.  While later and conveniently-missing-from-the-records instances may offer competing evidence about my status as the ideal son, I knew, that day, that I was a man.

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t until the next week that I started crying halfway up the “Hard” level rockwall.

And now, as I listen to an ill-gotten copy of Someday, I finally enjoy the fullness of my irreversible connection between a staircase at Crux and Smitty singing about Armageddon.