There is a song that I have to hear to officially mark the beginning of Christmas season. Our tree may be up, our halls may be decked, our presents may be purchased and wrapped, but if I haven't heard this song yet, it just doesn't feel like Christmas. And in this digital age when you can play whatever song you want with the click of a mouse or a spin of a wheel, I don't cheat. It needs to happen naturally, like when I was growing up. It has to come on the radio. (Or Pandora.)
A few years ago, I didn't hear it until the morning of Christmas Eve while I was riding around town running last-minute errands. I called My Director, put her on speakerphone, and made her listen along with me. With tears in my eyes I sat in the driveway and listened to rest of the song, singing along hysterically.
Why did we not own this growing up? No idea.
It's Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town by Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band.
"Tonight I'm gonna take that ride. Cross the river to the Jersey side... 'Cause down the shore everything's alright." -Tom Waits
At the very worst, Sandy has inconvenienced the DKL family. I use the word "inconvenienced" specifically here because so many others have it dramatically worse. In our house, we lost power for two days.
"So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore. Show a little faith there's magic in the night." -from Thunder Road
Sometimes you hear a song and it just gives you that feeling. A feeling that it's right. That it's good. I felt that the first time I ever heard Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band. I love this song so much that I would sing it to baby Peanut as a lullaby. There's a live version that's more subdued. Something takes hold of me when those first few chords on the piano play, followed by the soft rip of the harmonica. Goose bumps bordering on tears. I feel like I'm experiencing a piece of music history every time it plays on my iPod.
I would channel that version as I held her in my arms in the wee hours of the night after one of those 2am feedings. I'm from New Jersey, where Springsteen is religion. So I wanted it to be part of Peanut's religion too. Instead of the traditional lullabies, I sang her rock-n-roll.
April 2007. Her first bottle. Daddy=sleepy.
I continued to sing it to her as she grew older. One night when she was around three years old, Peanut interrupted me when I sang this line:
Well I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk.
"Daddy, guitars can't talk," said Little Miss Literal.
"Some people CAN make them talk," I said. "Like Bruce Springsteen."
But I have a confession to make. As many times as I've listened to this song; as many times as I sang it as a lullaby or karaoke; as many times as I've answered with it as my favorite Bruce song, I didn't really know what it means. That is, I didn't know what Bruce was thinking when he penned it. I knew what I thought it meant. Sometimes that's all that matters, I know. But the two meanings could be totally different. (For example, when I heard Bob Dylan's It Ain't Me Babeshortly after my dad died, it reminded me of him. The song is definitely not about a father and son. Still to this day, for whatever reason it reminds me of him.)
To me, Thunder Road has always been a song about making the most out of life, making the most out of opportunities; about last chances; about making it real. (Those are some of the lyrics, anyway.)
We got one last chance to make it real To trade in these wings on some wheels
Recently I jumped into a Twitter debate about Springsteen's best song. (I also love Waitin' on a Sunny Day.) When Thunder Road came up I mentioned that I once sang it as a nightly lullaby. One of my Twitter friends responded, "That's an interesting lullaby to sing to your daughter." So I got self-conscious. And worried. Was I singing an inapproriate song? I always assumed there WAS "stuff" going on in Thunder Road, with the ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away and your graduation gown lying in rags at their feet. I thought, "What have I been singing to my child?" I mean, I sang it to her so much that at one point when she was a toddler she actually requested it at bedtime and would accept nothing else.
So I did what any rational dad would do. I googled that shiz. And here's what Bruce himself had to say about Thunder Road in a 1991 documentary, according to good old Wikipedia:
"So this was my... my invitation to a long and earthly, very earthly journey. Hopefully in the company of uh, someone you love, people you love, and in search of a home you can feel a part of."
A long earthly journey. Hopefully in the company of people you love. In search of a home. Thanks, Bruce. For proving me right. Perfect.
July 2012. Along our long earthly journey
It's a town full of losers. Then I'm pulling out of here to win.
One day Peanut's journey will take her beyond this place we chose for her to grow up. She'll leave to do better than we did.
Here's the live version I sing to Peanut:
A story Bruce tells in another live version of one of his classics got me thinking about our roles in the dreams of our children. You can read about that here.
"I'm not trying to cause a sensation. I'm just talkin' 'bout my generation." -The Who
There are songs that come on the radio or my iPod and I will immediately think to myself, "This song would be on the soundtrack of my life." Scenes From an Italian Restaurant by Billy Joel. Lovely Day by Bill Withers. Growin' Up by Bruce Springsteen. I could go on and on. Suffice it to say, it would probably be a 2-disc set. At least. Certain songs just make you think of certain times in your life, or certain people.
In the short amount of time I spend in the swagger wagon on my way to and from daycare for pickup, I listen to one of two things on the radio: sports talk or classic rock. When the Peanut is in the car, I try to make sure we're listening to music.Normally, she's zoning out after a long day, sucking her thumb and staring out the window. But sometimes, we'll talk about the music. Our short lessons in what I believe is essential music knowledge go something like this:
"No sweetie. That's AC/DC. This song is by Led Zeppelin."
"Oh. Because it sounds like that song (Highway to Hell)from Megamind."
"You're right. They do sound alike. That's what we call rock 'n roll."
"You're silly, Daddy."
What amazes me is that almost every time we're listening to that classic rock station (Q104.3 in New York), a song by The Who comes on. Nearly every time.
The Who was by far the favorite band of my cousin Michael. He died in August 2009 after a short battle with lung cancer. He was 45 and the father of a ten year-old son. So when The Who comes on the radio now, we are reminded of a dad who had his parents load two oxygen tanks in the trunk of the car just days before his death because he wanted to take his son miniature golfing. He was hitting his shots with one hand and wheeling around the air he was breathing with the other.
That is the inspiration that comes to mind when me and the Peanut are rushing from daycare to home to get dinner started, a snack ready, Sesame Street turned on, Luna greeted. I'm able to take a moment to realize why I'm doing this, and for whom I am doing it. It makes me realize that I should stop complaining about being tired or stressed. I miss my cousin in those moments. But I am thankful for the lesson he taught me. How to be the best dad I could be.
This past weekend, we were taking the Peanut to dance class. As if on cue, the opening chords to "Who Are You" started to play. Almost immediately, the Peanut began to sing it, without prompting. Without any urging or instruction from either of us ever. "Who are you? Who? Who? Who Who?"
We never taught her this song ourselves.
So cousin Mikey lives. Remembered fondly, as part of the soundtrack of our life.
"Well, my feet they finally took root in the earth, but I got me a nice little place in the stars." -Bruce Springsteen, Growin' Up
I've been on a pretty big Springsteen kick lately, spurred on by the death of Clarence Clemons last month. A few days ago, I was listening to one of his live albums on my iPod as I ran on the treadmill. "Growin' Up" came on. Certainly an appropriately titled song for this blog.
In the middle of this particular performance from 1975, Bruce points out that his parents and sister are in the audience. He jokes that they've been following him around to his gigs for six years, trying to convince him to come home. He then tells a story of how neither of his parents supported his music when he was "growing up." His dad urged him to be a lawyer. His mom tried to convice him to be an author (turns out, he IS an author if you ask me).
As he concludes his story, he tells his parents, "...well tonight you're just going to have to settle for rock and roll." And the crowd goes wild and the band rocks the rest of the song.
(You can listen to the song I'm talking about by clicking the video below. The recording is a little crude, but you can definitely hear the part I'm referring to. It starts about 2:30 in.)
This got me thinking... can you imagine if Mr. and Mrs. Springsteen had succeeded in getting Bruce NOT to pursue his passion? To NOT go into music? I can't. It's mind boggling. It actually makes my brain hurt to think about a world without his music. Impossible.
Now with all due respect to the Springsteens, I'm sure they're lovely people who were certainly raising what can only be described as a rebellious son in a different time, but I plan on doing the opposite as a parent.
We are the keeper of our children's dreams. Sure, they can achieve them without us. But it's a lot easier for them, physically and emotionally, to do it with us. How powerful, how wonderful, how inspiring would it feel if they achieve them with us right behind them, every step of the way?
The setbacks, the failures, the mistakes, the rejections, the inevitable triumphs.
A few years ago, I attended Commencement ceremonies at the college where my wife works because she had planned them. Whoopi Goldberg was the guest speaker. She made it a point to thank the parents because, to paraphrase her, these kids were pursuing their passion and a lot of them are in for a lifetime of rejection and misery. They were not entering a slam-dunk money making career. Drama and dance and art students. But they all had one thing in common: they all had parents who supported them. Despite the cost. Despite what many might consider their outrageously unrealistic dream.
They were applauded.
They deserved it. We hold the dreams of our children in our hands. It's up to us to nurture those dreams, not squash them. No matter how fantastic they are.
Whatever the peanut wants to do, however wild her dreams may be, as long as it doesn't hurt her, I am there for her.
Knowing my strong-willed child, she'd probably pursue it anyway. But I'd much rather be thanked when she makes it, than mocked in front of a live audience.
"When the change was made uptown and The Big Man joined the band, from the coastline to the city the little pretties raised their hands." -From "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out"
I was planning on publishing my intended Father's Day post now. Instead, I am compelled to share my thoughts on the passing of Clarence Clemons, the legendary saxophonist for the E-Street Band. The Father's Day one will come tomorrow.
I write this with tears in my eyes, for I feel like a friend of mine has passed away. I feel like a part of my childhood is gone. Although his legacy will live on in his music in whatever form I own now and in the future, I am still going to miss The Big Man.
I was born and raised in New Jersey. I grew up listening to Bruce Springsteen. Although it was more by osmosis than anything else. My parents weren't Springsteen fans. Having grown up in the 1950's, their era precluded Bruce. My brother and sisters were more into The Grateful Dead, James Taylor, and some others. But I picked up Bruce anyway. Thank goodness.
