how to torture a teenager, part 1
The backstory of the new story, as yet unnamed, is set in 1968, so naturally I've been listening to rock and roll to get into the mood. Buffalo Springfield Again, and I had "Mr. Soul" up loud, with the windows down, and was both singing along and sort of dancing in the seat. While I was waiting to pick up the kid from school. He walked around like he didn't recognize the truck until the coast was clear, then he darted in and sort of hunched down.
"Mom, that's hurting my ears."
I looked at him. "I wonder sometimes if they switched babies at the hospital. Do you know who's singing this? I'll give you two chances."
He shakes his head.
"I've played it for you before. How about this one: I'm just a soul who's intentions are good. Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."
He stares at me blankly. "Can we go?"
"You need another hint? Okay, Tobacco Road."
"I don't know."
"Get out. You can walk home."
"Mom! It's nearly two miles!"
"Boo Hoo. You could use the exercise. Okay, last chance. Who's is the single voice able to redeem an entire pathetic generation of young singers?"
"Ryan Bingham?"
"Correct. Man, you lucked out. Okay, now, when Mommy dies, we're going to play what at the funeral?"
"Montery Pop Festival, 1967. Janis."
"Good boy."