1976

Year 15 and other synchronicities

When Lynyrd Skynyrd put out the album, One More From The Road, a live album recorded at the fox theater in Atlanta Georgia, I was sitting at our kitchen table after school, probably having a snack, while the kitchen am radio played, the live version of Freebird. I went to my moms room and BEGGED her to take me to Rainy Day Records to purchase it. I had all my own money and I just needed a ride. To my delight she consented and got up to drive me to the store.

I proceeded to do what I always did. I put that album on the turntable and played it until it was memorized verbatim. Melody, lyrics, tone, inflection. My body absorbs music. I never really learned to read music. I do it all by osmosis. I am a powerful singer but have not exercised that as of late. The only thing on my bucket list at this point is to be on stage, with my white hair blowing, belting out some great rock ballad, just one time. The only reason it is on my list is because, it has popped into my head involuntarily all my life, and I am learning to listen to that inner voice. I just hope my outside voice can still carry it if the opportunity ever presents itself. The truth is, it is like writing, I had to sing. I still sing around the house and drive my very tolerant son crazy but thankfully he likes my music.

Now that I am past age 60, skydiving has dropped off the list. There are more terrifying things one can do. For example, expressing oneself in song, writing or some other form of self expression/art. The year 1976 keeps making an appearance. I was 15 at that time. I was romantically attached but had not had children yet. When the choir master at our church posted a “free stereo” note on the bulletin board, I found it and went to find him. I could not believe my luck that I was the first one to ask! That stereo had, Zenith Stereophonic High Fidelity FM Radio, surround sound speakers and it had power! I blasted, The Who, Boston, Rush, Pink Floyd, and so many more throughout the house, neighborhood, all the while adding to my mental repertoire. My poor family. My self differentiation was well underway and my dad was not happy.

Not to get too deep into it but I was for lack of a better term, I was the family scapegoat. I knew it as a kid but did not understand it. I just knew I was different and that my life depended on how good I was, obedient, quiet, subservient. My dad was a tyrant and ruled with anger. He did not like to be challenged and from the moment I was born, I challenged him. Not on purpose but I just had a way of irritating the shit out of him. A look, would get you threatened. I was told to be quiet a lot. I had bloody noses and bad dreams and even sleep walked. I cried, I was sensitive to things most people didn’t notice. As an 9 year old, when it was my turn to sit in the front seat on the way home from church, I turned to my dad, driving and asked him, “Daddy, why don’t you and momma sleep in the same room anymore?” Later, when I was in my 20s a friend said to me, “Oh, Janine, I love you, you say what everyone thinks but is afraid to say..”. It has taken me a very long time to reconcile the reactions of some people to my “openness”. I learned to take these cues and adjust my behavior. From early childhood I noticed that I was sensitive to things like seeing an ambulance on the freeway. As a child a sight like that would bring me to tears and prayer for the poor person involved. I lived in a family of non sensitives.

In 1976 when I was 15, my life was tumultuous. My mother who had gone to bed with mental illness when I was 8 was a vacant soul who rose to make dinner and retreated afterwards. I spent my time manipulating her and sneaking around trying to avoid my dad. I lay on my bedroom floor one morning before school and as I cried out to God in my anguish, I vowed I would not let myself go crazy because at that point I was tempted. What was probably 90% normal teenage behavior was fueled by a sense of growing resentment and rejection toward me that I had no way to remedy. I could never win that approval and I raised myself in many ways. This is more common today with the breakdown of society but at that time I think I only knew of like two families that had experienced divorce. These were the days of not talking about anything. Keeping up appearances was king. My dad was one guy at work, church and family gatherings and another animal entirely, at home. So, I vowed to stay sane and I kept going.

Lately the year 1976 is making appearances. I have lived in two houses built in 1976. I am a seventies girl and love the music, art, decor. Not the crazy stuff but the classic things like a craftsman built house, talking on the phone (with a ten foot cord), visiting. I love long hair, hippie clothing and I am woo woo. I am beginning to remember me. Who I am, was and will be. I am obsessed with the album, One More from the Road. Its songs speak to me of the longing, power and peace that I have always carried. My peace is coming back to me as I continue the work I am now doing. My son who I was blessed to have when I was 42, is 21 but to look at him, he is a throwback. Maybe my twin brother across the generations. He is not typical of his generation in that he is strong, masculine, works with his hands and is sensible. He would have been one of my best friends in high school. I grew up thinking it was better to be a boy. Girls were too much trouble. My dad had three daughters and he was always pissed. So, I was/am a tomboy and get a long with most men better than women. I just slip into bro mode. A work in progress, I cant seem to end this but I will. More later. Thanks for listening

.