Alright not really death but murky memory muck.  Because of a simple comment last night from someone named Bobby who loves us and we love him too, I was flooded with memories and all sorts of crazy shit.  Like going with Bobby’s brother to a poetry reading in the middle of an abandoned pool atop the hills of the Valley,  eating dog biscuits in the church sanctuary and doing the “worm”***  ,drinking night train in the dugouts of the Sherman Oaks park.  These are things that my son has clearly missed living way out in the BFE WV.

Today I am reminded that no matter what I did as a youth, how wacky or zany, I am just a middle aged woman who is totally unhip in the eyes of her 17 year old son.  Off the cuff I told him over coffee today that I used to hang out with a drummer from Bad Religion (though we both were only 12 at the time).  He looked at me in disbelief and said well, if you guys hung out when you were kids then I guess…he’s gotta be really old like you.  Curses!

So tomorrow I drop him & his buddies off at the Warped Tour in Pittsburgh, I will turn to him and say:  I may be old but at least I can say I saw The Clash at 14 and Joe Strummer’s sweat hit my forehead.  But what’s the use, he’ll just say  “god Mom, I don’t listen to Classic Rock”.

*** The Worm was a dance that originated with an LA punk pugilist band from the late 70s/early 80s called   The Brainiacs.  Little did I know when doing the worm during youth group I would end up marrying the drummer many years later and STILL be married the guy.  Crazier things have happened I suppose.