Back then, it wasn’t ‘sittin’ bitch.’
Years before we ever called “shotgun” we were vying for a spot on the hump. The middle seat in our old silver Buick was coveted not only because you got to plant your tush on the folding armrest (best view for those normally unable to see over the dashboard), but if so positioned, you got to play with the radio.
Three little kids in the front seat (people weren’t so vigilant then), the littlest on the hump, itching to turn the volume knob. The older two shared a seatbelt in the passenger seat. Dad drummed the steering wheel, one arm crooked in the open window, thick fingers tapping on the peeling door frame. In those years, he wasn’t bearded, sporting only a mustache and a perm that matched my own in frizziness. He drove fast, sang loud and pelted other drivers with a blizzard of customized cuss words. Jesus’ middle initial was H. And we were not to tell our mother he said that.
My mother was a mellow Carol King album with a worn-out, split-seamed cover that opened more like sandwich bread than a record sleeve. My father was gravelly, anything-but-mellow grassroots rock. He was a cassette tape plunged into the dashboard player, anti-war, pro-experimentation and meant for singing along.
“One, two, three…”
“What are we fighting for!” That was our part. Dad growled out the next line and we readied with, “Next stop is Viet-nam!”
It wasn’t always so black armband. Sometimes, the kid on the hump got to pick and the elephants-in-the-yard song was a most-requested.
“Doo doo doo, lookin’ out my back door!”
This morning, on a cramped downtown 6 train, my iPod shuffled over to that song. All elbows and attitudes, the people around me pushed in, but I was already somewhere else. Silver Buicks, bad (bad!) perms and cheeks hurting from smiling into truck wind. Look at all the happy creatures dancin’ on the lawn. I bit my lip. I tried. But when my train lumbered into Grand Central and the headphone cranked, Wontcha take a ride on a flying spoon? My heels snapped out onto the concrete and I sang along.
“Doo do doo!”
No heads turned. It Crazy Central Station, why would they? When the song finished, I clicked over to Tapestry and hit play. It seemed like the thing to do; give my mom some air time. I sang along to that, too, but quiet and under my breath. It’s a different kind of album and a different kind of memory.
Memories like that are what I like to call Chicken Soup for the Soul. Regardless of whether or not people stare, you just keep on singing
oh the days of childhood remembrances, steamy rain on hot concrete, gigantic thunderbirds with ugly seat patterns, less fears and more fun, and a great soundtrack by which to replay all the memories… thanks for the awakening. (p.s. *this* particular fish has a bicycle..albeit one with training wheels…)
hugs for tomorrow.
That is some beautiful writing. Evocative. I could almost taste the memories. Thanks.
Bizzarely, your family music car rides are incredibly familar. We loved the Woodstock soundtrack too.
Wonderful imagery
Wow…beautiful writing. I felt like I was there. You’re very talented.
wonderful, fantastic post. made me nostalgic for my parents’ blue chevy impala with the ripped plastic seatcovers and, for some reason, getting to stay up late to watch wolfman jack on the midnight special, which of course made me sing almost outloud… “let the mightnight special shine its light on you…” and cookouts in the backyard, and dirty summertime feet
. this post brought back a bunch of happy memories for me. so, thanks!!
wow – felt like i was there with ya! amazing imagery…. made me long for the days of rides with my badly permed, moustached father. only we were in a truck, and were listening to marty robbins ” out in the west texas town of el paso I fell in love with a mexican girl….”
That was a really great post. It’s posts like that that keep me coming back here. Thanks!
Beautiful writing, Fish. You are truly talented.
I think of my Dear ‘ol Dad every time I hear anything by Dan Fogelberg… particularly Run for the Roses and Leader of the Band. Sappy and much less cool than CCR, but my dad’s always been a bit dorky. =)
I did a post just like this a while ago…its so interesting reading about your memory..it makes me wonder if we will ever look back at these present times in our life and feel the same innocent peace as we do with memories from when we were young.
you are an amazing writer
Yeah, no one cares on the subway. Your post has brought back memories.
My childhood memories are of beatings and being alone, and the helpless feeling like when they drowned our 3 kittens in the river, along with a tomcat that was just passing through. I am sad and jealous to read about your happy memories and realistically know that probably you had some rough times too, doesn’t everyone? I will keep reading because you write so well. Clearly so well that it touched a nerve in this usually soul-less 42 year old.
You’ll knock em deat at NYU.
Wow! Ride down memory lane! Ours was “I’m being followed by a moon shadow” by Cat Stevens! Gotta love the 60s!! Nice writing, Fish! Happy Easter!
I remember Tapestry very well. Happy memories. My parents played Stevie Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life” so often that I could sing every word to every song. I should get the CD and find out how much I still remember. It might be therapeutic to feel 10 again.
Hey! I haven’t heard this song from Country Joe Mc Donald for years. And, btw, isn’t it titled ‘the fish cheer’? How appropriate
Here I go again: I had to google Country Joe to remember that the band’s name was actually ‘Country Joe and the
Fish’! Hehe. Maybe that’s the reason this tune crossed your mind again? ggg
Real sweet – thanks
i especially loved your description of your parents.
Yeah, you don’t see many references to Country Joe and the Fish these days.
Am enjoying learning what’s on your iPod.
Damn you Fish, I wish you would play the ‘Tag, You’re it’ game!
Oh, I’ve definitely been moved to sing out loud to the iPod. Last time a firefighter gave me the thumbs up, so I’m not that inclined to quit.
An aside – I’m one of five and I can’t believe the photos we have of all five of us bouncing around beltless – seatless even – in the backseat of the fake-wood-siding station wagon.
(…i keep checking your site, hoping that you’ve let us know good news about the lab results…)
That was your little bit of child escaping momentarily… singing in the train.
why do you hate me?