Like Rain

8:30am  81 degrees  3.02 miles  35:36  11:48 pace 

Back to Hermann Park this morning.  To say I'm happy with this move is such an understatement but I'll say it again.  I'm happy.

Last night I met up with friends for a free concert at Miller Outdoor Theatre.  We sat on our blankets and enjoyed the music of the band War.  (A little research tells me that there have been a few disputes about who is War and what constitutes a band when the original members aren't still playing, etc, etc...)  Anyway...they still sounded like the War I remember as a kid.  And I mean as a kid, like 12.

Above all else, I am a fan of funk.

Laying on that blanket last night, the haze and smog of the city blocking out all but the most stubborn of stars, I was taken back to Riverside Park in Wichita, Kansas.  I can remember seeing big gatherings taking place.  Some families seemed to have all the fun.  There were lots of kids running around, several picnic tables pulled together, and music.  LOUD music.  It was like a magnet.  And I was always physically pulled in a wide arc away from those gatherings. Big crowds at Riverside Park in the late 60's could turn dangerous very quickly.  At least that was what I was told.  But that music...

And the bowling alley.  Crestview Lanes had a grill that wasn't a restaurant, it was a bar.  My mom was assistant manager at Crestview.  She was also a single mom.  Where do you think I spent many Friday and Saturday nights?  The music floated out of the grill onto the lanes and I practiced more than one dance move with other kids who had parents who seemed to live at the bowling alley. 

My earliest 8-track and vinyl collection wasn't sophistocated enough to rebel in the direction I would eventually land.  I had a lot of Elton John and Jim Croce. That's what a straight-A, responsible white girl did.  She bought what her friends bought. Then I moved across town and...
 
...I had a completely irresponsible neighbor named Walter.  He was a year older than me and he, in turn, had an even wilder, older sister.  Neither went to school on a regular basis.  Both spent hour upon hour in their basement in a haze of smoke and music.  And I loved hanging out at their house.  My perception was that their parents had given up any hopes of them graduating and were simply trying to keep them from getting arrested.  As long as they were home and not on the streets, anything was okay.  These two had all the food, drink, air conditioning, and music they wanted during summers off.  Their house was full of long-haired, pot-smoking, peace-loving deadbeats.  Peripherally, I was a fascinated hanger-on and they allowed it.

Jimi Hendrix, War, Deep Purple, David Bowie, Rufus, James Brown. 

Hours of the stuff.

Last night, thousands of people sat on a hill and the funk fell on us like rain we'd been thirsting for.  And we grooved together.

"The World is a Ghetto"

"Cisco Kid"

"Low Rider"

"Why Can't We Be Friends?"

Indeed. 




©Michelle Scofield, July 7, 2013 All Rights Reserved