Proud Parents and Subterranean Homesick Blues
Posted on May 15, 2011
Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” playing inside the WaWa as I buy my Sunday morning coffee.
Does anybody notice? Who here knows the song? Who here cares about the song?
When will I walk into a WaWa and hear Phil Ochs?
As I wait in line at the cash register, a man tells his buddy that his son made the dean’s list and started sixteen games as a freshman. He played in twenty but started sixteen and made the dean’s list.
What do I know about these men, their lives, this friendship and the son-in-question? They could have been buddies in a rat hole in Vietnam or casual acquaintances at Sacred Heart Church. But I immediately speculate as to the proud father’s motives.
See what a good father I was? My son is a good young man because I raised him right and taught him well. Me, I never got the chance to be on any dean’s list or play on any team, but my boy is showing the world what I was made of.
Or maybe the other guy knew the boy, asked about him, and the whole thing exchange was only a polite conversation that I had no business listening to. Obviously, my commentary says more about me than it does about them, and I would do better to observe and enjoy without commentary. I’ll never really know the man’s feeling of pride, gratitude, triumph and relief because I have no children of my own.
Attaboy. Sixteen games? As a freshman? And making the dean’s list? All that study, all that practice, all that time invested? Praise the Lord, he’s a blessed young man. I’m sure you’re very thankful.
It doesn’t take a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
Sometimes, I don’t know which way the wind blows when I’m standing in the middle of it.
Does anybody notice? Who here knows the song? Who here cares about the song?
When will I walk into a WaWa and hear Phil Ochs?
As I wait in line at the cash register, a man tells his buddy that his son made the dean’s list and started sixteen games as a freshman. He played in twenty but started sixteen and made the dean’s list.
What do I know about these men, their lives, this friendship and the son-in-question? They could have been buddies in a rat hole in Vietnam or casual acquaintances at Sacred Heart Church. But I immediately speculate as to the proud father’s motives.
See what a good father I was? My son is a good young man because I raised him right and taught him well. Me, I never got the chance to be on any dean’s list or play on any team, but my boy is showing the world what I was made of.
Or maybe the other guy knew the boy, asked about him, and the whole thing exchange was only a polite conversation that I had no business listening to. Obviously, my commentary says more about me than it does about them, and I would do better to observe and enjoy without commentary. I’ll never really know the man’s feeling of pride, gratitude, triumph and relief because I have no children of my own.
Attaboy. Sixteen games? As a freshman? And making the dean’s list? All that study, all that practice, all that time invested? Praise the Lord, he’s a blessed young man. I’m sure you’re very thankful.
It doesn’t take a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
Sometimes, I don’t know which way the wind blows when I’m standing in the middle of it.