The case of the metal saw

Being a father now, I spend a lot of time anticipating the future.  Wondering about random scenarios I will be presented with where I'll actually have to "parent".  What age to let them watch scary movies, teaching them to drive, cell phones cameras (*shudders*). That sort of thing.  Inevitably, that stream of consciousness always brings me back to my upbringing, and some of the more hilarious (in hindsight) moments from my childhood.

One of the funniest (again, in hindsight) revolved around my brother and the "metal saw".
My father was not what you'd consider a "handyman".  That's not to say he wasn't able to do the odd-job around the house.  He was certainly capable.  Especially if it involved varnish.  That man never met a piece of wood he didn't want to drown in varnish.  But fixing things just wasn't his hobby.  He was far more interested in music and sports and politics than hanging out in the garage building things.  Which I think worked out quite well for my brothers and I.  I couldn't imagine a life that didn't revolve around sports and music.  It's also worked out well for Neil, the man I pay to do all of the work around my house.  In fact, it's worked out really well for Neil.  He should probably send my Dad a thank you card.

But for a man that didn't spend much time building things, my father certainly had tools.  One of which was a hand-saw designed specifically to saw through metal.  A hand-saw which I had never seen my father hold, and one that, to a 12 year old, looks suspiciously like any other hand-saw.   So when my brother and his friend Jimmy decided they were going to start an after-school knee hockey game which I got to tag-along to (my entrance song? "Pump Up The Jam" by Technotronics) we needed something to cut our street hockey sticks in half with.  Rummaging through our garage we found that saw.  It looked exactly like the tool we needed.

So my brother grabbed the metal saw and started hacking away.  In a few minutes our full-length hockey sticks were cut in two and we had the tiny little sticks we needed.  I'm positive that my brother didn't return the saw to its proper place.  If he had, none of what followed probably would have happened.

As I stated earlier, to my knowledge, my father had never sawed a piece of metal at home.  I had never seen him pick up, look at, or mention that metal saw.  If it had been put back where my brother found it, to this day it would probably still be in that exact same spot.  But that's not what happened.  When my Dad got home from work he found that saw wherever my brother left it.  Wood shavings surely along its teeth.   Two-foot long hockey stick ends certainly laying on the garage floor next to it.

He wasn't pleased.

When we returned home later that afternoon, my father was in the garage waiting; angry lecture already mapped out in his head.  Saw in hand.  I don't remember exactly what he said, but I do know that it was directed at my brother and not me.  I was too young.  But that didn't stop me from being downright terrified. The crux of his angry ranting, the one thing that really ruined his day was that cutting those sticks, with that specific saw had ruined it.

Basically: its special teeth, designed to slice through metal, AND METAL ONLY, had been sullied by the wood.  I imagine it's like when you touch a baby bird, and the mother refuses to feed it.  Metal would know that the saw had once cut wood, and it's useful life was over.  That was my father's argument.  It may very well be true, but it just sounds so silly.

I'm willing to bet my house that my father had never used that saw to cut through metal before that day.  And I'm certain he hasn't since.  Is that because he simply wouldn't have (*nodding slowly*) or because we ruined the saw?   We may never know (we already know)!

How does this relate to my children and I?  I have no idea.  But my interactions with my children are a constant reminder of my parents and how they raised me.  Both the good and the bad.  And it's awesome.

The Old Stuff

Let's just get this right out in the open: Growing up I was a huge Garth Brooks fan.  Not just a fan.  I owned a black cowboy hat.  I only wore it once in public (to a Garth Brooks concert).  But I still wore it.  If I wasn't married with two kids that secret would have stayed in the vault.  Lucky you.

Back in November Garth had a special on TV.  It was essentially the life and times of Garth Brooks told through the music which inspired and influenced him.  And it was awesome.

He'd tell stories of his childhood and transition that into 30 seconds of Billy Joel or Simon and Garfunkel.  I ate it right up.  It was goosebump-enducing.

Prior to this special I hadn't listened to Garth Brooks in close to 15 years.  I had heard a song here and there, but I never really listened to him.  Watching him sing during that special re-ignited my fandom.  

The next day I dusted off my old CD books, found all of my Garth discs and loaded them onto my iPhone.  "Blast from the past".  "Trip down memory lane".  Whatever nostalgic cliche you'd like to apply, applies.  It was fantastic.  I still had the lyrics to 90% of those songs memorized and I belted them out like they were a long lost friend; which they pretty much were.

Not all the songs held up over time.  I'm sure the blame for that falls on both mine and Garth's shoulders.  My tastes in music are undoubtedly different.  Some of those songs are 20 years old and haven't aged well.  But maybe 10 of those songs I love as much, if not more than I did when I was barely a teenager.  It's been a month since I put those discs on my my phone and I'm still listening to them on my way to and from work each day.

So my love of Garth Brooks still rages on, despite our lengthy separation.  This is important.  Because this next part is painful.

Garth didn't do that TV special for the hell of it.  He had something to sell.  Exclusively at Wal-Mart (Walmart?)  Garth was releasing an 8-disc box set appropriately titled, "Blame It All On My Roots".  This box set has some of the classic Garth that we all know and love.  But more importantly, it has 4 discs of those inspiration, influential songs he touched on during his special.  

Remember earlier when I said I got goosebumps watching him sing 30 seconds of those tunes?  Imagine my excitement at 4 discs of the stuff.  

I read the track list.  "Midnight Train to Georgia", "Ain't No Sunshine", "Stand By Me", "Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay", "Somebody To Love", "Mrs. Robinson", "Maggie May", "Who'll Stop The Rain", "Operator".  These are some of my all-time favorite songs.  Probably yours too.  

I was on the verge of hearing Garth, one of my favorite singers, sing some of my favorite songs.  I popped the first disc into my computer, cycled through a few songs, and immediately wanted my money back.

This was an abomination.  Garth wasn't singing these songs, he was murdering them.  Murder probably isn't a strong enough or right word.  Mockery.  He was making a mockery of these classic hits.  

Go here for a taste, if you dare.

Did you listen to that? Did you?  I hope you didn't, but I kinda hope you did.  

What is he doing?  Who is that man singing?  What is he doing?  I'll stop asking you questions now.  But seriously, what was that?

Now, in his defense, there are a few songs he handles well.  But mostly it's him trying to impersonate the original artist, backed up by what sounds like 2nd or 3rd rate musicians and backup singers.  Almost none of it works.  

And it's not as if he lost his voice or talent.  That TV special proves that he still has it.  This was just 8 discs full of missteps and bad decisions.  That I paid for.  I beg of you dear reader: don't make that same mistake.

So that box set was a pretty big letdown.  Huge disappointment aside, I'll let it pass.  Rediscovering Garth has been awesome.  Having an additional half a life of experiences since I last absorbed those tracks has given me an entirely new appreciation and understanding of his music.  Here's on my favorites, which hits me a lot harder today than it did when I was 14:  http://grooveshark.com/#!/s/Every+Now+And+Then/5frrLp?src=5

So I thank him for the memories: both old and new.  And it's a safe bet that Garth isn't going to leave my music rotation any time soon.  But that won't stop me from deleting the majority of his box set from my iPhone and memory.  

Instead I'll focus on the musict that brought so much joy to teenage, and now 30 year-old Aaron.