In the Beginnings . . .

The long ago times–the most distant memories

I remember the Beatles. I remember Dean Martin. I remember playing the records of my parents, the crooners and the Christmas albums, Sing-Along With Mitch. I remember Alan Sherman and Perry Como. I remember listening to them all.

I remember the Monkees and the Archies. I remember the Partridge Family and Sonny and Cher. I remember the TV specials of Andy Williams and Bing Crosby. I remember the Captain and Tennille. I remember the KISS movie.

I remember putting on the records and pretending to play the guitar as I sang along to all the songs.

I remember trading records. I remember having parties where we each got to play one song at a time. I remember riding my bike to a friend’s house with my 45 records in a square box with a handle on the lid.

I remember riding down the street with my LPs tucked under my arm–scratch inserts facing sideways so the records would not roll out of the cardboard sleeves. I remember rifling through the display cases trying to decide which record to buy that week, because I only had a dollar. I remember being tempted to steal.

I remember all of this as if it was yesterday, as if it were 50 years ago, as if I’m watching someone live that part of my life while the adult me watches the replay rebroadcast in my mind. I’m remembering now as I write this and I’m in that moment.