Influential Songs of My Childhood, Part 2

6 December, 2005. 477 words.

Believe it or not, I heard (and didn’t turn off!) the Charlie Daniels Band’s The Devil Went Down To Georgia this morning on the way to work. It struck me that this was another Influential Song From My Childhood, though admittedly not of the same caliber as the last one. I guess this would be more of a Song I Remember From My Childhood. (Btw when I say “my childhood,” I’m specifically referring to the time that I lived in Centreville, VA, c. 1970-1980, before it became the booming, overcrowded metropolis it is now.)

I have a pretty clear memory of being on the back porch stairs, discussing this song with someone. I don’t remember who; perhaps one of the neighborhood kids. I think we were intellectually discussing, as 9/10 year old boys do, the alternate “son of a gun” lyric we never heard on the radio. It’s funny how this brings up a rather clear mental picture of my back steps, and the slightly prickly, evergreen-like bushes next to them which were excellent places to crawl around in, and my whole back yard. The stairs had these black metal railings that were sort of wobbly but still pretty solid. There was a little dogwood tree off to the left as you stood on the stairs. Mom always talked about tethering David to that tree to keep him out of trouble (I don’t know if that’s true or not). Off to the right, there was a large empty area suitable for badmitten or volleyball or croquet, and beyond that space there was a long clothesline running way down to Samson’s doghouse, near the edge of the trees. And, of course, there was the swing set somewhere in the middle. I remember it being a bit on the rusty side, and I specifically remember being a little afraid of it ever since I was stung on the chin by a wasp hiding in a nest in one of the metal crossbars. Behind the swings were the remnants of a sand pile, which I don’t remember ever using myself, but maybe I did. Beyond the back yard, of course, there were acres and acres and acres of forest to play around in. Trails, streams, swinging vines. Good times.

It’s strange to think that now, that whole back yard area is gone completely and forever, as if it never had existed at all. Earlier this year, Cynthia and I visited the site of my childhood home on our way back from Maryland. The house itself is, remarkably, still standing, looking much the same as it did in the 1970s. But it is now claustrophobically surrounded by apartments and townhouses on all sides. It’s really hard to reconcile the difference between what I see in my memory and what I saw looking at the real site. Ah well, time marches on.

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