Music of my youth -- the first of a continuing series

Music has always been a big part of my life, ever since Mom took $400 from the money earned off an auction that sold off the livestock and most of the farming equipment when I was 3. Dad was sick of 20 hour days (chores at 4:30, on the road to work by 5:30, home by 5:00, then farm work until it was done), and he wanted to build up some cash for remodeling/rebuilding the house where I spent a big chunk of my life.

Anyway, Mom walked into the kitchen where Dad was counting money, counted out the $400, an over Dad's protests, walked out. I really have to wonder if he thought she was leaving. She had threatened it often throughout my childhood. I wasn't even in kindergarten and I knew that theirs wasn't the healthiest of relationships.

A few hours later, Mom came home and started rearranging the furniture in the living room. Dad kept asking her where she had been and where the money was. Mom ignored him, until finally, she said, "If I have to live on this damn farm, then I'm going to have something that's MINE!"

Dad knew when it was time just to back off.

It was also about that time we heard the rumble and bang of a delivery truck coming up the rutted track that was our driveway at the time. It was from a furniture and home electronics store in Mora, and at the sight of it, Dad almost flipped. Instead, he stormed out and went to the barn.

When the back of the truck opened, my sisters and I saw a large wooden crate. The driver and his assistant pulled it out, took out a crowbar, and pulled the lid free with the the squeak of long nails. Some, it gave birth to a RCA console stereo with AM/FM/FM stereo, turntable, and a state-of-the-art 8-track player. Once it was put in place, Mom told us that we could only touch it when she was home, and if she found us messing with it without her permission, we'd get our butts whooped.

It was a different time, wasn't it?

Anyway, the next day, Mom jumped into the car and drove to St. Cloud and went music shopping. She went to all the different record shops and bought a wide selection of albums. Johnny Cash and Johnny Mathius. Ray Charles and Etta James. Three Dog Night and James Reeves. Music, basically, from a wide selection. She also picked up a number of albums for children. A reading of "The Jungle Book" stories by Sebastian Cabott (Mr. French from "Family Affair"), The Crickets and The Chipmunks, the soundtracts to "Mary Poppins" and Disney's "The Jungle Book."

*****

A few weeks ago, while I was on the Thief River Falls campus, I slipped into the men's room. Over the urinal and over the toilet, they have those damn advertisement things (a rant about those coming in the near future! I just wanna pee when I'm in there; not be sold something!). As I was getting ready to do my bizniz, I noticed that I was being observed by Tom Jones. And as soon as I saw his picture and his name, I started singing softly (and thankfully, I was alone in the bathroom):

It's not unusual to be loved by anyone (bahda da da da dum),
It's not unusual to have fun with anyone (bahbahda da da dum),
but when I see you hanging about with anyone
It's not unusual to see me cry,
oh I wanna' die...


Mom had a thing for Tom Jones and Engelbert Humperdink. She had all the albums from those early years. She played them as much as I played Johnny Cash's Live from San Quentin. (Hell, the first song I knew how to sing was Folsum Prison Blues). All I had to see was Tom and that song popped into my head. And stayed there for days. When I got back to my office, one of the people in my cluster asked a question, and my answer was:

It's not unusual to believe the things you do (bahda da da da dum)
It's not unusual to think the way you do...

She looked at me like I was possessed, and turned and walked away.

*grin*