Fab Foundations # 23: “The Poster Child of Yearbook Quotes”

(Personal reflections inspired by Beatles songs)

Song: “In My Life”

Album: Rubber Soul

Release Date: December 1965

My wife’s 1977 Woburn High School Yearbook personal quote reads:

“There are places I’ll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever not for better

Some have gone, and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead, and some are living

In my life, I’ve loved them all”

Nancy’s thoughtful excerpt from the Lennon/McCartney song “In My Life” (lightyears better than my ambiguous yearbook quote “ Ya, Jerry”) is not only perfectly emblematic of the emotions that most of us have at that important stage in life, it also arguably pegs the most succinct, precise, and famous lyrical statement of all time when it comes to songs about nostalgia. In fact, I believe this Beatles classic song of tenderness ended up hitting the ball so far out of the park, that it made it difficult if not impossible for others in the Rock genera to take a stab at the sentiment themselves. One song that comes to mind is Bob Seger’s “Like a Rock”; a nice tune, but not quite in the same league. Another is Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road”, but it’s not as focused. As for the other musicians I’ve covered in this blog series, I can’t recall if any of them even attempted (maybe Neil Young with “Don’t Be Denied”, but that song is on the fringe of nostalgia). My guess is that they all must have shrugged their shoulders and muttered something to the effect of “oh well, that topics been covered”.

So, how to explain the sentiment that John Lennon and the Beatles capture so amazingly with “In My Life” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBcdt6DsLQA )? How to explain the sweet emotions that Nancy, me, and so many others experienced as we graduated from high school; the kind of emotions that allowed us to relate to that song so strongly.

Let me start by narrowing down the window a bit. I don’t relate this music or these lyrics to how someone feels prior to the age of, say 16.  Sure, later in life you can look back on your earliest memories with nostalgia, but not while you are living it.  In other words, when you are 10, you don’t look back at your 5-year-old world in a dreamy way (at least I didn’t). No, I’m thinking these reflective emotions really don’t kick in until you are about 17 or 18…when you are getting ready to move on from your life as a dependent and break off on your own.

What happens within that 2 year window that stirs nostalgia? Well, for many of us, it’s our first real taste of freedom. Case in point: Through grade school and beyond, my brother’s oldest daughter – my niece - was always 2 class grades ahead of my daugther. I’ll never forget when Joe told me during his daughter’s senior year that she was an infrequent house guest - her days and nights spent almost entirely with her fellow-graduating-class friends - and semi-jokingly suggested that I should start preparing for this as a Dad.

I’m glad Joe said this, but my preparation may not have been quite how he pictured it, because a big part of bracing myself was in reflecting on my own life at that time. I started having more flashbacks on all sorts of things, such as how the early-evening air felt on my face as I stepped out the back door with my mind set on night moves. I recalled more of the music I listened to, my sense of loyalty at the time, my lankiness, hanging out in the woods, and how my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I recalled the inside jokes among friends, the letter writing, the fireside gatherings, and the deep discussions. All of this helped me to find a parental balance of sorts toward my daughter (and later my son) when they reached that magic age. For sure, it was hard being on the Dad side of the coin, but those reflections made it easier.

Freedom can do amazing things to self-esteem. As an antithesis to this, I recall a colleague of mine who grew up behind the Iron Curtain. Despite being a bright guy, he was always very hesitant to make any big bold decisions. In other words, he was hesitant to stand out. My supervisor stated that this colleague had to first shake the mental shackles off before he could do this. Slowly, over a period of time, this mental liberation played out.  I couldn’t relate to my colleagues’ plight at all at the time. I needed to hear the sage wisdom of my supervisor to understand. I took my mental freedom for granted, as if everyone had it by nature and nothing could break it.

If you use freedom correctly, it can come with a whole suite of positive emotions, including trust, kindness, love, and, yes, nostalgia. Some people consider nostalgia a retreat from reality; a negative emotion. I’ve never felt that way. Nostalgia is a great emotion for developing strong memory, which in turn helps someone to be empathetic of others. It also gives you a solid historical perspective on things. Yes, we must live in the present, as I hear so often, but dipping your toe into your past on occasion can make the present feel more vibrant, more alive. 

With that said, I thought I’d spend the rest of this entry in a nostalgic state of mind. I’ll do this by tackling a memory for each of my biggest supporters in this blog endeavor, all of whom I send weekly email “heads up” reminders whenever I submit a new entry (~ 30 of you). Some memories are specific, and others general. This is by no means a comprehensive list of friends and family who I could do this for, but I have to keep it finite, and so I’ll stick with the weekly shout-out crowd. Also, these are not necessarily the best memories I have with each of you, just the first ones that came to mind. I’ll do this in bulleted form, without names associated and leave it to you to guess what memory relates to whom. I’ll try to keep as unrelated to time and place as possible. Some of these may be very easy to guess, but others not so (several of you don’t know anyone else, or perhaps you only know one or two, so I apologize for that). I randomly selected the order to throw everyone off.

Here goes:

• A quintessential excursion which included a walled city, fjords, and hundreds of pearl-white belugas bouncing across a scenic Seaway (with a capital S).
• A 4-hour drive with ‘the man in the long black coat’, making our way downstream on one of North America’s largest tributaries while singing along with the songs of our (mutual) favorite musician as if our lives depended on it.
• Edging our way on ski’s up to a pinnacle of the continental divide, where we would sit on a cliff edge, crack open beers, and toast the majestic natural beauty in front of us, as well as our brotherhood.
• Your world views in my younger life were huge in giving me a sense of the importance of history and geography (which ended up being my dual major in undergraduate studies). I recall from long ago your love of Native American Culture and the history of Mexico. It was all fascinating to listen to you talk about these subjects as a kid.
• Coffee and tea in the hometown of a Nobel prize winner, and the deep conversation that bounced from motorcycle accidents to transfigurations to the shores of the Red River
• A world-famous Tower (with a capital T), a slip under the chains, a backstairs climb, and a once in a lifetime question
• A memory of you looking up at me after clearly making a profound connection with the story I was reading to you, and me realizing at that moment there was someone very special here in my midst
• A sprint across an Emerald (with capital E) field to keep from being gorged by bulls. This a few weeks after us passing on the chance to do so in a more officially observed event
• A Western (with a capital W) snowshoe afternoon in drifts so deep at times, that we could hardly move, and with a dog who had to be rescued from the significant snowballs accumulating on her shaggy coat.
• A broken leg and a night of physical and mental resolve that showed yet again how deeply you care
• A wonderful evening dining together with our young families, which reaffirmed for me the role I had accepted when I became a Dad.
• In a ‘reality is stranger than fiction’ moment, I glanced to my left at the urinal next to me at a Bruins game, and lo and behold, who should I see! It led to a wonderful nite, the two of us sharing our friends (we each had a buddy with us) and our love for each other.
• A nervous greeting soon transitioned into a very relaxed atmosphere later that evening with the words “there he goes!”
• An introductory discussion about horse heads frozen like statues in a frigid northern river for an entire winter led to an immediate understanding that this was a guy I was going to like
• A harried tent sprint across a windy field (me in the car, you, my poor cohort running behind to keep up, tent between us) gave me solace in the wonders of such an easy going nature.
• Acceptance of my offbeat humor, a willingness to wake up early on weekend mornings to paint, an enthusiasm to listen to my comic book reading, and help on my newspaper routes made me realize long ago that I had a bond for life.
• Amazing strength in times of loss (particularly when in the spotlight) will always have me feeling blessed whenever I have the grace to connect. We are way overdue for an early morning discussion over strong coffee.
• Having defeated death on several occasions, your priorities in life are soul-deep-inspiring. Your leaning on me all those years ago for ideas on your record-buying spree was an honor I took very seriously.
• Hilarious childhood memories of swapping personas of musicians as we imitated them over your record player gave me an early sensibility for the power of music.
• An evening ventured into a hidden lock system in the downtown area of a capital city, and the deep conversation that ensued, led me to the belief that our friendship would be long lasting.
• Of all the concerts I have ever been to in my life, my all-time favorite was seeing the Who with you. The thought-provoking discussion on the ride home was not too shabby either. What could be better than to share an experience always treasured with someone you love who never has experienced it, and at a time when you know that person was ready for it. Needless to say, the Who did their job in this bargain too (which also contributed to the intensity of the moment, seeing as you never know when that opportunity will be lost).
• Speaking of the Who, a ride to the Big Apple to see Quadrophenia led to a classic moment when all conversation was ceased by your high decimal cranking of said album, reflecting your sense of the moment.
• In the relatively short time that we have been friends (actually ~ 10 years now, so the term ‘relative’ is a key one here), memories of outdoor activity (hiking, snowshoeing, etc.) already dominate all others in this blog appreciation. That’s a big-time kudos coming from a fellow outdoor enthusiast.
• Role reversal at my bachelor party, including cleaning off my ‘cake face’ and much later, tucking me in (yes, I have a vague memory of this), gave me a clearer sense on the power of adapting for the moment or even the times. 
• Your friendship with my wife has become my friendship too. Your tenderness with your sister is something to behold, and some of my favorite Christmas-time memories are at those special events of hers that you warmly invite us to every year. When I look up “giver” it’s your face in that dictionary entry.
• Like John & Yoko, your bond with your husband is truly a 2-as-1 observation for all of us who have the pleasure to witness. Love is Real, Real is Love. Grow Old Along with Me. All You Need is Love. Yup, you’ve got it! The memories collide, but most all include both of you.
• So many incredible times together, it’s hard to pick one.  For whatever reason, an all-nighter, early-morning sunrise on the shores of Lake Champlain come to mind.  Perhaps it speaks to the ‘all-times-all-places’ nature of our friendship.
• Learning to perform music together has been a unique joy. 
• The drive out to Tanglewood to see Neil Young all those years ago is etched in my mind, as are all the other musically-inspired moments you introduced me to (more than anyone else I know).
• You beat me at Stratego when I was 16 and you were 7.  Man, that was humbling. Believe me, this was a good thing! Your feedback during this Fab Foundations series has been second to none.

Now, time to queue up “In My Life”, put on the headphones and reread this entry.  Thanks everyone, for the blog support and the wonderful nostalgia.

- Pete

P.S. This entry is dedicated to my wife, whose high school yearbook quote inspired this entry and whose love for me helped round out the meaning of the rest of “In My Life” beyond her quote.