Sing It If You Know It

Come on feel the noise
Girls rock your boys

In 1987 I'm 5 years old. I'm in the back yard running as fast as I can. I'm wearing my red and blue striped shirt. I'm holding in my right hand my Snoopy Kite (a gift from my Grandpa Hector) and if I can catch the wind at the right time I might be able to launch onto our swing set.

We'll get wild wild wild
Wild wild wild

I would put my G.I. Joe toy down to avoid further wind resistance but he and I just evaded Skeletor's army around the corner from the back of the house where I dug a trench large enough to hide my Tom n Jerry themed race car. I can't just leave Joe behind and allow him to be taken hostage again. The last time that happened he lost one of his hands. Life is a motherfucker when you only have half of your Kung Fu Grip ability. I know it, because Joe has never let me live it down.

So you think I got an evil mind
I'll tell you honey
And I don't know why
And I don't know why

I can picture myself with my big head and the wind in my poorly cut black hair. I'm pretty sure I look as rad as Lion-O does when he and the rest of the Thundercats are racing into battle. In order to launch myself into the ether I reach with my left hand onto one of our monkey bars. Its a 24 inch wide piece of metal with chain at each end. The chains are connected to the swing set so that one can use this bar to dangle from, or in my case, launch myself victorious.

So you think my singing's out of time
it makes me money

I forgot about my pal Joe however. I'm holding him in my left paw and I don't have a firm grip. When I grab the bar at full speed I launch my body back, lose my grip, continue into the air, and see the sky above me, no ground below. I can see that the kite has left my hand and is flying gracefully through the air.

And I don't know why
And I don't know why anymore
Oh no!

This is the first time I have ever had the wind knocked out of me, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to die. Fuck you G.I. Joe.

So come on feel the noise
Girls rock your boys

Ninjas! I'm surrounded by them. I'm fighting them off one by one. I've collected Squeeze It bottles. Enough for an arsenal of Squeeze It bombs packed with boiling hot acid (read:water). Unfortunately the Ninja's are too fast for me, and my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are no where to be found. I would have enlisted Voltron for this fight, but he's been taken away from me for yesterday's "Dive from the top of the dryer and into the clean clothes" fiasco.

We'll get wild wild wild
Wild wild wild

In order to fight off the Ninja's I grabbed a stick from our big tree that holds the tire swing. I'm only one kid, and I can only do so many back flips. I whip around in circles, a frenzy of guttural sounds and war cries. I miss one lucky Ninja and nail the side of the house with the brittle stick.

So come on feel the noise
Girls rock your boys

The stick breaks, it snaps right in two. I don't know how I got so close to the house. Was it the fog of war that came over me? It doesn't matter now because a large chunk of wood from my weapon of divine justice has broken off and shot itself right into my left eye. I've never lost an eye before, this is one of life's big milestones. I'll never see the world the same again. I'll never be able to drive. I'll never have all of my peripheral vision. An eye patch would be pretty cool though, kinda like One Eyed Willy.

We'll get wild wild wild
Until dawn

I hope my mother doesn't notice. What is she gonna say when I tell her that not only have the Ninja's managed to evade me, but now her son is a fucking cyclops? I walk into the house using only my good eye.

"Mom, is my eye okay?"

"Yes honey its beautiful" She kisses my eye.

"Is it still there?"

"Of course it is William why whats wrong?"

"Nothing!" I run off. It was a clever ruse to escape my fury, and it worked. Next time Ninja's. Next time.

So you think I got a funny face, I got no worries
And I don't know why
And I don't know why

After the divorce I'm in our new condo, which is in a large condo complex for low income families. I don't have time to be bummed out about it, because I just received an "I'm sorry" gift from my father. Its a water-gun with a standard pistol handle, but the gun itself is fashioned after the Batplane from the 1989 Tim Burton Masterpiece, Batman.

So I'm a scruff bag well it's no disgrace
I'm in no hurry
And I don't know why
I don't know why anymore
Oh no

I've been busy chasing The Joker all over the new condo. Its two stories with three bedrooms. Needless to say, its an adventure. There are no back yards here, there are no tire swings, there are gangs outside the door and security gates in the complex. My mother has been in the hospital due to a major tumor that is just below her neck, right between her shoulder blades. Its not cancerous, but if it attaches to her spine it will make its way up to her brain and kill her. My father, is out teaching my 13 year old sister how to drive our VW Bug so that she can go out and shop for groceries while mom recovers. None of that matters however, even though at this young age I am aware of it. If I don't catch The Joker soon he'll proceed to use laughing gas on an innocent group of Pound Puppies.

So you think we are the lazy type
you should know better
And I don't know why
I don't know why

I can't find The Joker anywhere, and my little sister is mad at me because I threw one of her toys. Our grandmother is watching us, but I have managed to roll away into the shadows (Batman Style) and I see that I have to chase The Joker up the side of the wall, to where the stairs wrap around. I tighten my cape (a pink towel) and jam by weapon (Batplane Watergun) into my pants like John Mclain (I know who John Mclain is, because when my father leaves me at home alone to go to AA Meatings he rents me the Die Hard on VHS). I'm scaling the side of the wall.

And you say I got a dirty mind
I'm a mean go getter

My cape has gotten stuck under my feet. As I try to regain my footing I lose grip on the metal bar that keeps one from falling off of the last half of the flight of stairs that take you up to the second floor where The Joker taunts me from my bedroom. As long as I remain calm no one will catch me.

And I don't know why

"William what are you doing!?" My grandmother is yelling, someone tipped her off. Leslie is behind her at 5 years old, wide eyed and quiet looking at her older brother like he is the strangest person in her little world. My Batplane fell, and I am forced to jump down. Shamed. I make my way down to the front room to finish building a castle out of Legos for the local green army man militia. They are a mercenary troop of former hardened criminals (I've seen the Dirty Dozen recently) that were brought in to replace G.I. Joe who was lost in the move. I was too late. Those poor pound puppies never had a chance.

And I don't know why anymore
Oh no!

One day at my grandmother's house in Boyle Heights in the midst of an excavation. I had just finished escaping The Temple of Doom with Short Round for the 3rd time and I was exhausted. About to take off in my space ship (a gift from the Senator of the Galactic Empire) I realized I had no launching pad. I dug around my fathers drawers to fine a little wooden Compact Cassette holder.

Suddenly I forgot what I was doing. I forgot that Jack Burton needed me to help him defeat David Lo Pan, or that we would eventually need to get rid of that monster hiding out in the gas tank of The Pork Chop Express.

I was side tracked by cover art from The Thompson Twins, Bob Marley, Tears for Fears, Quiet Riot, and Oingo Boingo. Apparently my father listened to all sorts of random shit, and you can still find the Led Zeppelin paintings under the back house that he did when he was in high school. I took the tapes, and played them. Some of it I liked, others I hated. I was too young to form any real opinions, I just knew that this was different.

To this point I had coped with life like any other kid. I played. I lost myself in stories of my own making, and mixed them with cartoons and movies that I had seen. Never before this moment had my life had a soundtrack, but in 1990 I discovered that there was music in the background of all of my parents failures. There was the radio or a tape in the car or in the kitchen. I can to this day hear a song and apply it to a memory that I have. I hear songs and remember arguments and car rides. I remember moving from house to house. Playing in the back yard, or in the street while mom cleaned.

We pick and choose the memories we're going to hold on to. We favor the music that reflects who we are, or what we like. Sure I listen to lots of depressing music now that I'm older, but just because life is sad or hard doesn't mean the soundtrack we use to remember things has to be the same way.

Besides; a pack of Gremlins is trying to tear down my bedroom door. My samurai sword is at the end of the back yard (zombies attacked just after lunch) and my only option is to shimmy out of the window to where my Big Foot Power Wheels truck is recharging for the night. Whats gonna keep me going? I'm six years old again and I've got precious little time to throw on my football helmet for protection, yank my cleats on and handle some evil Gremlin ass. I might as well listen to something rad.

So come on feel the noise
Girls rock your boys
We get wild wild wild
Wild wild wild