More Thoughts on Benny Goodman
It was as if June 13, 1986 was a line of demarcation for my whole life. Before I heard that Benny Goodman had died, I had childish fantasies of seeing him play, and even meeting him. I was very much a child, believing in a lot of things that weren't true at all. The biggest of those things was that my family would be together forever.
It was only a days after Benny died that my folks split up. Before school had ended, I was living in a camper at Letchworth State Park with my mother and my grandparents. I didn't really know where we were going to live after June. I worried about money for the first time. I missed my father and didn't understand that he had stopped being the man that I loved. I was suddenly aware of my own powerlessness. I felt small and insignificant, and knew that my fate was in the hands of "grown-ups". I couldn't understand why those grown-ups were often not capable of making decisions in my best interest. After Benny Goodman died, I lost much of the gentle, contemplative sensitivity that marked my early childhood. I fiercely tried to toughen up and to protect myself and to accept that some difficult things had happened.
I think back on my time listening to Benny's music, and am transported back to simpler days. I wouldn't say I was unaware of the things happening between my parents -- I can remember being about six years old and sitting with my sister at the top of the stairs in our house, listening to my father rant into the telephone at my grandmother, vowing to retain custody of us if my "whore of a mother" left, to quote him. I didn't know what a whore was, but I did know it was bad, and I definitely didn't want to think that my mommy was something bad. I can remember Beth and I creeping back into our room and closing the door, whispering about what it could all mean. She couldn't have been more than 2 1/2. Old enough to talk, old enough to be scared, but not old enough to think it all through and grasp the facts. Still, after that night, things seemed better, and I took it to mean that sometimes grownups fought, but they always worked it out.
It has only recently occurred to me that Benny's death was symbolic of the loss of so much in my life at that time, but it is also a symbol of something else; perseverence. So yes, my folks split and I became a little less naive, and I started to really grow up. I started to worry about adult things, I started to think about right and wrong, and I started to really decide what kind of person I wanted to be. Their split didn't destroy me. I guess it's things like these that shape us into people of substance (I like to think I am a person of substance, but everyone thinks that!).
Anyway. Enough babbling!
It was only a days after Benny died that my folks split up. Before school had ended, I was living in a camper at Letchworth State Park with my mother and my grandparents. I didn't really know where we were going to live after June. I worried about money for the first time. I missed my father and didn't understand that he had stopped being the man that I loved. I was suddenly aware of my own powerlessness. I felt small and insignificant, and knew that my fate was in the hands of "grown-ups". I couldn't understand why those grown-ups were often not capable of making decisions in my best interest. After Benny Goodman died, I lost much of the gentle, contemplative sensitivity that marked my early childhood. I fiercely tried to toughen up and to protect myself and to accept that some difficult things had happened.
I think back on my time listening to Benny's music, and am transported back to simpler days. I wouldn't say I was unaware of the things happening between my parents -- I can remember being about six years old and sitting with my sister at the top of the stairs in our house, listening to my father rant into the telephone at my grandmother, vowing to retain custody of us if my "whore of a mother" left, to quote him. I didn't know what a whore was, but I did know it was bad, and I definitely didn't want to think that my mommy was something bad. I can remember Beth and I creeping back into our room and closing the door, whispering about what it could all mean. She couldn't have been more than 2 1/2. Old enough to talk, old enough to be scared, but not old enough to think it all through and grasp the facts. Still, after that night, things seemed better, and I took it to mean that sometimes grownups fought, but they always worked it out.
It has only recently occurred to me that Benny's death was symbolic of the loss of so much in my life at that time, but it is also a symbol of something else; perseverence. So yes, my folks split and I became a little less naive, and I started to really grow up. I started to worry about adult things, I started to think about right and wrong, and I started to really decide what kind of person I wanted to be. Their split didn't destroy me. I guess it's things like these that shape us into people of substance (I like to think I am a person of substance, but everyone thinks that!).
Anyway. Enough babbling!