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
A sincere apology can bring color back when the world looks gray
Bernanke’s ‘helicopter drop’ gave $1.2 trillion to Wall Street banks
Forced sterilization gets to heart of arrogant progressive agenda
We’re neither friends nor enemies, just strangers who share the past
‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
When love finally dies, it’s like a fever breaks and the pain is gone