“People wore different clothes back then, Novalie.”  I explained.  ”People had longer hair.  This is music from back when Mommy and Daddy were little kids, just like you.”

“This is from olden times?”  She wanted to know.

“Yes, I guess it is,”  I answered, surprised momentarily by the sense of time passage.

“Did they have colors on the houses and in the sky?”  She asked.

“Yes, Novalie.  When I was a kid, the houses all had colors, and the sky was bright blue.”

Then suddenly I understood the root of her question.

“Mommy and Daddy’s olden times are not as old as Grandma and Grandpa’s olden times.  They had colors then, too.  Just not in their movies.”

“I know that, Dad.”

Well I jumped into the river too many times to make it home
I’m out here on my own and drifting all alone . . .

I’m just trying to picture how I, in my own life, could have used that excuse for any time I didn’t make it home, or was at least late in arriving home.  I picture myself as a teenager, walking in late on a Saturday night after a dance.

Dad: Kevin, it’s nearly 1 AM.  What kept you out so late?
Me: I’m sorry, Dad.  I would have made it by midnight, it’s just that . . . I jumped into the river.
Dad: You what?  What were you doing jumping in the river?  One jump in the river isn’t . . .
Me: It wasn’t just once.  That’s the whole problem.
Dad: So you jumped in a couple of times?  Your mother and I were worried sick . . .
Me: No, Dad.  I jumped in a bunch of times.  Too many times to make it home.
Dad: Okay, well I guess that can happen to anyone.  Just try not to do it again.

If you just knew me and my Dad back when I was a teenager, you’d understand just how common these kinds of conversations were.

Q: You mean you actually did jump in the river late at night after a dance?
A: Yes.  The famous Columbia.

Q: In the middle of summer, I hope!
A: Not quite.  Early March.

Q: That must have been freezing!  What were you wearing?
A: This interview is over.

Q: At least tell me if there were any good lyrics in Estranged.
A: Most of it is quite good.

When I find out all the reasons maybe I’ll find another way
find another day
with all the changing seasons of my life
maybe I’ll get it right
next time
. . .
I see the storm is getting closer
and the waves they get so high
Seems everything we’ve ever known’s here
why must it drift away and die?

You may have heard “Fix You” by accident if you watched the “Arsenal: The Beautiful Game” Youtube video from the April 17 post The Beautiful Game.

Anyway, the song winds down to the line “Lights will guide you home . . . ” which seemed to bother Novalie.

“No, lights won’t guide you home, Dad.  Jesus will.”

There was some personal comfort in that warmth that morning and I began to think that everything . . .

“Daddy, the song needs to be louder!” called Novalie from the back seat. I gave the volume button a tap. “More!” she shouted with enthusiasm. Another bump of the volume.

“Is that good, Novalie?”
“Breakdown!” She screeched, almost in sync with Axl Rose, and so it was loud enough. During the piano and guitar solos, Novalie sang her own lyrics.

“I love! I love who I love!” sang her little four-year-old soul. Has she learned at this age that all songs must be about love?

In later songs, her lyrics changed slightly.

“I want to be! I want what I want to be!” She bellowed. Then I recognized the common feeling in Novalie’s various song lyrics. They’re about freedom, limitless possibility, and making one’s own choices in life.

When I look around, everybody always brings me down
Is it them or me, well I just can’t see
but there ain’t no peace to be found
But if someone really cared, well they’d take the time to spare
a moment to try and understand another one’s despair -
Remember in this game we call life that no one said it’s fair
-Guns N’ Roses, Breakdown

We never found Wal-Mart, and that was just fine with me. I was content to drive in the morning sun and learn about Novalie through her songs. The Taurus could wait for an oil change.

We decided that it would be good Friday night fun to go to a high school football game. The atmosphere, the energy, and Novalie was sure to love all the noise and commotion. It’s her thing. Just about the time I cheered with the other Moscovites at Moscow’s game-tying 35-yard touchdown pass, I looked over and noticed that neither Doré nor Novalie was watching the game.

“Did you see that?” I asked Doré, knowing full well that she hadn’t.
“Kevin, I’ve just been watching the students walking past this whole time.”

We weren’t seated very high in the bleachers, and we were between the entrance and the student section, so we got to see a large number of MHS students up close. Most of the classic cliques were represented. It was hard not to watch them, try to guess their personalities based on what they wore and how they carried themselves, and to guess what social groups they might belong to. This was clearly the thing that most interested Doré on that night.

“Which group do you think Novalie will join when she’s in high school?”
“I am so scared about that” was Doré’s reply.

Novalie’s attention was riveted to the Moscow High School band. They were just a few feet from us, on the other side of the stairs. As they played, two female students, dressed just like hippies from 1968, danced to each song. The whole thing had Novalie’s full attention, so we spoke to her about it.

“Are you watching the band?” Doré asked.
“You can dance if you want to,” I offered.

Novalie’s thoughts were very different from ours.

“I forgot to bring my harmonica,” she said. She didn’t want to watch or dance, she wanted to join the band.