When Larry showed up at my house that day, I could tell he was excited. He had an 8-track tape in his hand and he insisted we go listen to something immediately.
The album was called “Song for America” and it was by a band I’d never heard of — called Kansas.
We were about 16 years old at the time. I had grown up in a home without much access to popular music. The only music I knew was my father’s old albums and the rare newer album he might buy. He didn’t like rock music — or anything that sounded more subversive than Frank Sinatra.
I had known Larry for most of my life. His musical experiences were completely opposite of mine. His father was a Baptist preacher and his mother played the church piano, but he was exposed to a wide variety of music — and he was determined to help me understand what was so great about some of what he was listening to.
Now, he had discovered the second album by Kansas — and he was at my house like a missionary, eager to share the gospel of great music with his friend who was lost in musical unbelief.
Getting better at all I do is only way to fight ‘imposter syndrome’
I’m losing need to explain myself to those who misunderstand me
Great men who change the world rarely look impressive from start
We’re neither friends nor enemies, just strangers who share the past
Society needs storytellers to help make sense of a changing world
My bad teen poetry suggests I’ve always hungered for missing love
‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’