rock·er noun \ˈrä-kər\
: a rock musician, song, or enthusiast
It was 1981 when Aldo Nova’s hit song Fantasy streamed through some small radio and into the life of a 7 year old boy with blond hair and freckles. Unlike other top hits that year- Devo’sWhip It, Neil Diamond’s America, and Sheena Easton’s For Your Eyes Only, to name just a few-Fantasy seeped into that part of him, that crevice of discovery that every child has, and shaped the boy and man he would become.
We were in junior high when I noticed him, his blond hair now long and his freckles slightly faded. Although he seemed shy, his eyes laughed deviously at the pubescent circus and authoritative attempts of teachers and a vice principal who didn’t like him. Was it the hair? But they all had long hair-his buddies and the girls that surrounded them. The boys wore it feathered and the girls wore it big. They walked down the halls in a group, some dude always playing air-guitar, some chick always ready to kick the ass of a girl like me. By the time we were in high school, our cliques were clearly separate and defined. But I still noticed him. I had a crush on this quiet rocker boy, although I am not sure if the two of us ever spoke.
Like any crush, it was soon forgotten. After high school he partied with the boys and hung posters of pantie or bikini clad women on the walls of their bachelor pad. He soon married his rocker girlfriend (later divorced) and raised two rocker sons. He went to heavy metal concerts and began collecting music and guitars. His sons grew their hair long, too, just like their dad and when they were small he held them on his shoulders at Kiss concerts and Rob Zombie shows. They are now 15 and 18 and tomorrow night the 3 of them are going with friends to see Slayer, Megadeth, and Anthrax.
Nearly 20 years after high school, the two of us celebrated his 37th birthday last week. First, by camping two nights in the brisk October mountains of Utah, followed by a weekend of CD and guitar collecting, Italian food eating, good book reading, True Blood and Prison Break watching, and cozy snuggling. It has been nearly six months since I bumped into him sitting on his motorcycle, bearded, tattooed and still rockin on. I asked for a ride, he said “let’s go” and he hasn’t left my side since. I know better than to speculate or imagine or define where or how our relationship will go, but I can say I do like having him around, that it has been easy, and I want him to stay. And while I was more inspired by the Go-Go’s Our Lips are Sealed in 1981, Aldo Nova’s Fantasy bore life to a rocker with blond hair and freckles. A true rocker. My rocker. Rocker Love.
