Musicians

Music. From the moment I was able to purchase a record, I was hooked. Everything about listening to music, on vinyl, cassette, 8track, CD, Ipod, MP3, whatever form its in, music continues to envelope every aspect of my life.

But I digress. Lets go back to the beginning, shall we?

My first 45 was purchased at Grants in downtown Auburn. Earlier that day, my mother had given me a hand-me-down transistor radio from my Dad (he got a NEW red one) and the song that came out of its tiny, music resistant speaker was Aretha Franklin's "Spanish Harlem."

"Lalalalalalalalalala" the black girls sang in the background. Then Aretha soared like a beautiful black dove out of my radio and into my room. "There is a rose in Spanish Harlem...." and I was HOOKED.

I ran to the kitchen and begged mom to bring me to Grants to get that song. So we got into our 56 Chevy (my father was having a hard time parting with it at that point, though the floorboards were pretty rotted) and off we went.

I began in the record rack what would be a lifelong habit....flipping the tops of records with my fingers like I was shuffling cards. Where was it, it was out of order! What if they didn't have it? AARRGGHH!

Finally, my eyes and fingers came to rest.....on the red and black Atlantic label. Aretha didn't dissapoint me.

Just as I was going to settle on her fabulous 45, something happened.

Aretha was on an album cover adorning the wall. The sticker on it said "Includes the smash hit "Spanish Harlem!" I took all my money out of my purse, looked at my mom and said "I'd rather have that."  My mother was a classically trained opera soprano who gave up singing for my Father. She loved music as much as I did, and though she knew we didn't have the money, she let me buy it.

Aretha and I were about to become lifelong friends.

I sang with that album so much that mom threatened to "snap it in half" if I didn't stop playing it over and over. In the future, that same threat would be repeated towards Frank Zappas' "Don't Eat The Yellow Snow," and Ted Neugents "Stranglehold."

Yet Aretha was the first person to put music into logical perspective. By singing along, I could transform myself into a backup singer with a sequined emerald green dress, standing behind Aretha. She gave me a haven to listen to something soulful instead of listening to my mom and dad bicker over things that at that time made no sense to me. Aretha gave me a holiday in the confines of my room. Aretha kept me safe and happy, when the world outside my childhood door was becoming increasingly cold and gray.

Thanks Aretha, I often wonder how many other girls you saved.

How I became Mommamanowar

No, it doesn't have anything to do with the loudest band in the known universe.

It has everything to do with a 14 year old boy.

I never wanted children. The thought of something 8 lbs plus coming through an area that's about the size of a dime never sounded appealing. I never had a "biological clock" tick. Whenever I saw a baby (unless it was a close friends' child) I thought, "Oh gawd, it throws up and poops. I appreciated my friends who became mothers, loved their children, but as far as popping one out?

No thank YOU.

Then one dark and stormy night, without so much as morning sickness, I became a mom.

 I was in my record shop after 9 p.m., listening to Ted Nugent's Stranglehold LOUD (as it should be), and there they were. Two very cold, soaking wet boys, one with a skateboard, one without. The skateboarder was Paulie, I knew his father well, and they were looking for shelter from the storm.

"Can we come in?" Paulie asked. "My Dad's gonna pick us up in a little while, and we wanted to hang out with you."  I was a little miffed that my Nugent time was interrupted, (The Nuge and I are close, you know) but I let them in.

"Who is your friend? "  I asked Paulie. "Oh, this is Gary, he'll be quiet."

Gary....was a 14 year old boy, disheveled, dressed oddly and didn't say much. I told them to go to the listening stations and not bother me. They picked out their CDs, threw on the headphones and I went back to work. Soon they departed with Paulie's dad and I thought no more of it.

Then...Gary came back to the store. Almost every day. I told him if he was going to be there he had to work and put a vacuum in his hand. I gave him a small job every day, including walking Dizzy Miss Lizzy, my beloved 1/2 sharpie, 1/2 doberman. Lizzy loved Gary instantly, so I knew he could be trusted.

Gary worked for a few months, then came in one day smelling like "boy." Anyone who is a mom knows that musky smell boys get when they don't take showers and wear the same clothes for days on end. I told him to go home and shower.

"I can't." Gary said.

WHY?

Because, Gary was a "couch surfer." That's slang for a kid who is homeless. Till that moment he'd been sleeping on couches in strange houses whenever he could. It was just before Thanksgiving, and I was horrified. How could a boy this nice, this funny, with such a big personality, have nowhere to go?

Surely someone must care for him, love him.

Turns out I continue to this day to be quite naive and usually WRONG. Gary had been homeless for about six months and no one cared where he was. I sent him to my home for a shower and scarf clean clothes from my now EX.  To my ex's credit, he reluctant allowed me to "keep" Gary in our home for was was supposed to be a short time.

OK, I lied about the short time part. But only to the EX. Gary would soon outlast the marriage.

Gary's last name is Mann. He became interested in Manowar and music in general very quickly in our home, sitting for hours while we listened to all kinds of music on the stereo. (The "What's Funk? " blog coming soon, thanks Bootsy Collins!)

As time went on we became closer, yet neither of us could figure out what to call me. I wasn't his "mother," I wasn't a relative, I was no one to this boy, really. Yet he felt I needed a name...so Mannomom came to be. Mommamanomom. I am now in tattoo form on his arm. I also have a tattoo that I recieved on Mothers' day, complements of Gary. (This story is for another blog.)

Since I became Mommamanomom, I've had more parental experiences that I ever thought I could. Gary's brought great joy, much consternation and unbelievable happiness to my life.

Gary once told someone "Some people have moms, others have to find theirs."

Every year he sends me a Mothers' day card. Its a reminder that I should be sending HIM a thank you card on that particular day for saving my vajayjay from undue stress.

Thanks Gary. Happy Mother's Day to ME.