If ever their was the definition of an old soul, I’m it. With that said, I have to point out that there is a double standard in society. I like the things that came in the generations before me, so I’m a throwback or nostalgic. However if there’s an eighty year old who’s into extreme sports, Britney Spears, and the latest Vin Diesel film he’s a freak.
For me the center of my world is music. It has been for as long as I can remember. I grew up with two older sisters who introduced me to the Beatles before I could even sing nursery rhymes. They had divided up the group. Mary had John, and Liz had Paul. Then Liz also took George and Mary took Ringo because she felt bad that nobody wanted him. I was often called in to settle disputes between them. Who’d have thought that a 6 year old’s negotiating skills could avert fisticuffs between 2 pre-teen girls who were deciding which one was about to marry the most talented Beatle.
My older cousins introduced me to doo wop and Dion. In 1972, while most of the world sang along to Elton John, I had on the oldies station, and I do believe that I was the only 8 year old boy who was singing along to “Ruby Baby.” Later my father introduced me to Sinatra, and I was the only child who not only knew the words to That’s Why The Lady Is A Tramp, but knew what the hell it meant.
In October of 1973 two events happened in my nine year old life that changed me forever. First, the Mets lost the World Series which was my first heartbreak. Then, later that month, while doing homework I heard the most beautiful noise from my radio. It was Sam Cooke. How did this man eluded me for all of my nine years? This was brilliant! Why didn’t anybody tell me about him before?
In retrospect, I’m glad they didn’t. Some things one needs to discover on their own.
So I sat and listened to the song, “Bring it on Home to Me.” At nine I didn’t fully comprehend what they were singing about. I only know it was beautiful. It made my day great. In fact, one of the first truths of my life that I shared with my wife was that whenever I stumble across a Sam Cooke song on the Radio, I know it’s gonna be a great day.
I remember on the way to my high school graduation, or as I called it, Parole, I heard “Wonderful World.” I remember sitting on a beach in St. Thomas, just watching the sunset and hearing a distant radio play “Good Times.”
“Get in the groove and let the good times roll. We’re gonna stay hear ‘til we soothe our souls, if it takes all night long...” No time was ever more perfect.
I knew I loved my wife, but when she walked into my arms and danced with me to “That’s Where It’s At,” I fell hopelessly in love with her. We reprised that dance at our wedding. Even today, while I’m sitting here just reflecting on life and the journey I’ve taken, “A Change Is Gonna Come” wafted out of the radio, which was still tuned in to the oldies station, and I knew it was gonna be a great day.
Who knew that I would be so moved by a man who died 4 months after I was born? That’s the beauty of art, it has a life span greater then the artist.
Sure, as I grew older I found artists of my generation who moved me. I spent hours on street corners arguing Ramones versus Clash versus Pistols versus Heads. I spent one too many night at CBGB’s with a fake ID listening to the music that I was sure would change the world. Then, as always, I’d go home to the oldies station and listen to the Beatles, Dion and especially Sam.
Someday I may introduce my children to Sam, and I hope that they’ll feel his music the way I do, but they probably won’t. They may like it, or even love it, but they will stumble into someone who touches their soul the way Sam touched mine.
I just hope to god that someone isn’t Eminem.
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