When I hear my young nieces, nephews, and now even my own children singing Justin Beiber, it makes me think….. I would have never, ever heard this song or any pop song like it! Up until the 5th grade the only things I ever listened to was Dr. Laura, NPR and Raffi- all controlled my Mom’s radio dial and the three cassette tapes we owned at home. And frankly, since I didn’t realize what I was missing, I was perfectly happy. Sure, there was the occasional inkling at school that the music I was listening to wasn’t known to the rest of the elementary school world, but not enough to really concern me. When my Mom brought home three new cassettes from a hot new children’s artist named Joe Scruggs in the 4th grade, I sincerely thought I was moving up in the world.
In the 5th grade my naive bubble was burst. I suddenly realized that everyone was listening to pop and rock music on the radio, and I did not know a single song they were singing or playing. I faked it, but knew it had to be remedied. However, my options were limited. Mom and Dad forbade me to control the radio in the main room or the car and I didn’t have a boom box of my own. I had to go renegade to get some real music into my life.
Enter the Alaska State Fair, which started just prior to the beginning of my sixth grade year. I was desperate to musically educate myself before school started and my coolness level would plunge without any knowledge to contribute about popular songs. That year at the fair the local pop radio station, 101.3 had a booth just outside of the barn. This was significant because my nerdy 4-H/FFA self practically lived in that barn the 10 days of the fair showing animals and such. It was easy to slip away out the front of the barn and listen to the songs, hear the DJs announce who was singing what, what was hot etc. It was an answer to my fervent little prayers. I was out there as often as I could slip away unnoticed to bathe myself in the forbidden sounds of pop rock.
Another draw to 101.3 booth was the ‘money booth’ they ran three times a day. At 11am, 3pm and 6pm they would fill a telephone booth structure full of loose paper bills (mostly $1s, but a few $5, 10 and 20 dollar bills were in there too). They would draw three names out of a hat and those lucky fools would get to go into the money booth for 30 seconds and grab as much money as they could and shove it through these tiny little holes in the side. To complicate things, they turned on these industrial strength fans to blow the money like a typhoon so the bills were super hard to catch. It was awesome. I faithfully watched the money booth and inwardly ridiculed those who could only catch a few bills due to their lack of skill and strategy. I had watched enough to know exactly what I would do.
For some reason I never thought to put my name in the pot, even though I was usually there for at least two times a day. I thought my Mom would be furious if she found out I went in a money booth to make a fool of myself (she likely wouldn’t have been) and I also just never thought I would be lucky enough to be choosen. But on the Friday before the fair ended, my life changed forever.
I showed up at the booth at 11am, right in between my sheep and goat shows. It was a little risky in terms of timing- I could kind of hear the loud speakers behind me when the judge announced the winners, and I figured I had another 15-20 minutes before it was time for me to get my sheep and enter the ring. But I was cutting it a little close and running a slight risk of my Mom having to hunt me down if I wasn’t careful.
The moment I arrived at the booth that morning the thought hit me “I am going to be in that money booth this morning”. My logical self told me I was crazy, there were literally a hundred people at each draw and it was just wishful thinking, but I somehow found myself at the front of the line, entering my name into the drawing as they made a last call for entrants.
They drew the first name. Some old dude that had terrible form and strategy. He got like $10 bucks and a slip of paper that I suddenly realized was for a cassette tape they were given away. Say WHAT!!!! A cassette tape of pop music? My heart started pounding. This could be my chance to actually own a real pop music CD? The second name was called. Some teenage boy that was slightly better than the old guy and really put his heart into it, but still only pulled out $27 and no slip for a free cassette.
Right then I heard the judge starting to announce the winners to the show just before mine. I had no idea how long he would take and figured I should get heading back to get ready to go in the ring. I got ready to get up and go when that thought came back- “You are going to be in the money booth- don’t leave!” I reluctantly sat back down, knowing I was kidding myself, but just had to hear the last name they drew to reassure myself.
And out came…… Melissa Kenley. Seriously, I almost peed my pants. My palms were sweating and I was trembling as my 11 year old self walked to the front of the crowd. I had on my show clothes- jeans, a Western shirt and cowboy boots- I must have looked hilarious to the trendy crowd, but I was about to give them the show of their life. I had watched the money booth over 25 times by that day and had figured out every trick in the book.
I sat in the booth and closed my eyes as they counted down. I repeated my desperate mantra ‘I will get a cassette, I will get a cassette’ over and over in my head and then the bell sounded. I slammed my back against the closest fan to break the wind and watched the bills settle at my feet. I frantically gathered as many as I could into the front of my shirt by holding it out and forming a pocket until I couldn’t hold any more. I then carefully moved to the open slit in the wall that was just my height. I jammed those bills in so fast and hard I made my knuckles bleed. I was so efficient and fast that I even had time to do another haul from the floor and get most of it in before the buzzer blew. I was money-grabbing poetry in motion.
I exited triumphant, but trembling. I still didn’t know if a little paper with a cassette name in it had made it through my pile.
They counted the money. $89!!!!! I was the record holder! And then, from the pile of rubble a small, white piece of paper. They handed me the appropriate cassette and the crowd went wild.
I shoved my booty in the plastic bag they gave me and RAN into the barn. Sure enough, my show was entering the ring and my Mom was holding my sheep, scanning the crowds for me with that look of I-am-going-to-kill-my-daughter-with-my-own-two-hands look, but the bag in my hands took all the fear away. I gleefully shoved the huge bag down my shirt (how was I going to explain almost $90 dollars in small bills and an evil pop rock tape to my Mom- but seriously how did she not notice a bag the size of small baby in the front of my shirt?), grabbed my sheep Alex and ran into the ring just before they closed the door.
I had to wait until late that night when I was home and alone before examining my first real album. It was Bonnie Raitt. Sadly, I was still so uneducated I didn’t even know that she wasn’t cool for a sixth grader and I spent the next two weeks memorizing every lyric to every song on the album. I was sorely disappointed to realize that no one knew who I was talking about, but to be honest, I still sing ‘Let’s Give ‘Em Something to Talk About’ to myself quite often, and it became somewhat of an internal anthem [though an out of context one to be sure] for several of my high school escapades. I still have a soft spot in my heart for good old Bonnie and my first real album.
Thankfully, my younger, much more pop savvy sister Lori asked for a boom box for Christmas and surprisingly got it. Then we spent Sunday evenings trying to slip away from family events and listen to Casey’s Top Forty, and as we got even older, trying to record songs from the radio onto a cassette. That took some major skill, timing and patience, but that is how I finally mastered the lyrics to ‘Look Away, Baby, Look Away’ in the 7thth grade. I finally, finally, had something real to talk about.
Monday, August 22, 2011
An Education
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Endless Summer
Part of learning to live here in Hawaii is adjusting to the feeling of endless summer. I am a seasons girl, born and raised. Particularly in Alaska, where the summer is glorious, but very short, you learn to take EVERY sunny day and use it to its full advantage. You stay outside all day long and work or play (or combination of both). You feel guilty if you even take part of a sunny day to clean your dirty house or go someplace like the library when you can be outside soaking in that glorious sun.
The same somewhat applies in MA and UT, the other two places I've spent summers in. Though the summers are longer and hotter and you don't have to have the exact same maniac pace as you do to enjoy Alaskan summers, you do want to be outside a lot and soak in all the sun before it is replaced with blustering winds and mountains of snow. Then, when winter comes, you enjoy nights with herbal tea and a good book or knitting project in front of you when the kids are down. You watch movies and play board games. Some years I'm exceptionally nerdy and put together a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle. You clean your house in a mad frenzy in March when spring fever starts to hit. You anxiously watch the ground for crocus bulbs in April and start to feel yourself revving up in May so that when June hits you are ready to run outside at the first glimpse of sun. For the next several months you run yourself ragged enjoying summer activities until the cycle starts again.
We moved here the end of February- hot off the heels of one of the most intense winters I've seen in a long time. The first month we were here the kids and I were literally at the beach four times a week. I think the locals thought I was crazy pushing my stroller on a cloudy day down to the beach front to watch my kids play and swim, but to me anything other than pouring rain was beach weather. We took advantage of every nice day- blow up inflatable pool in the back yard, slip n’ slide, picnics, park, bike rides, hikes, and beach, beach and more beach. The house looked like summer- towels hung out to dry, always one step behind in housecleaning, constant wondering what I’m going to put on the stove for dinner that night.
But guess what? Its been six months now and I’ll tell you this- living in summer mode forever is exhausting! I’m trying to teach my poor little inner Alaskan that all this good weather is not going to go away, so I can slow down, clean my house and not feel bad that we are not at the beach every time the beautiful sun pops its heads through the clouds. I can tell myself that it is OK to go to the library on a sunny day, its fine to knit and watch a movie in July and that my former maniac swings of activities are just not needed. I just wonder how long it is going to take to sink in…… old habits die hard.
