For Days Gone By

This past weekend, I found myself remembering a Thanksgiving many moons ago.

Picture it: 1987, and the world is enveloped in an Aqua-Net haze. My bangs are stiff and tall, and my all-time favorite band, The Hooters, announce they’ll play a gig at the Spectrum in their (and my) hometown, Philadelphia, on Thanksgiving night, November 26. The concert would be broadcast live on MTV and a video for my favorite song Karla with a K would be shot that night. Although I had just seen the band a few weeks before at the Tower Theater (and as many times during the previous two years as my allowance would allow), there was no doubt that I would be at *this* show, even though it was a family holiday.

I don’t remember asking for tickets to be purchased (for me, my brother, and my best-friend-that-week), but they were. And I don’t remember asking Dad to drive us and pick us up (since none of us were old enough to get behind the wheel), but he did. I might not have even had to ask — he would have just offered. After all, this was the man who bought me a melodica for Christmas the year before (the instrument The Hooters were known for). And he was also the man who gassed up the car and drove from shop to shop a few counties over after I asked, “Can we go to Lancaster to get this black hat that Eric wore on the inside sleeve of the One Way Home album, which I think was photographed there?”

12 years and three days after that night, he died.

That was 18 years ago.

18.

My grief is all grown up.

To foot-stompin’ rockin’ good times that make the sadness that never quite goes away a lot easier to bear.

To memories. To celebration. To life.

Well, I’m here all alone
A wind blows home
We’ll find it someday
There’s no reason to cry
For days gone by
Oh, Karla, we can make it if we try

birthday peeps

Your brief epistle in response...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.