Youngest son is turning 18 this year. I turn my back pages and remember. Sitting below my parent’s house.
On a cement ditch. My friends and I were surrounded by trees and weeds and the smoke from the joint passed around. We were turning 18.
It seemed so old. So very very ancient. Our youth was dim memories.
Now I look at youngest son and think how young his age is. So very very young. A flip-flop in perspective.
Funny how a song grasps a feeling over time and generations.
It’s been with me most of my life.
This song still holds the magic of knowing life.