Now And Then

By Joe Del Castillo

    

     In the midst of her senior high school year, my daughter Lucy invited her first boyfriend, Max, a college freshman, to visit. In my basement, the two spoke loudly; it was easy to hear them. I felt proud as they discussed “my music,” meaning 60s rock, in particular, the Beatles.

I heard Max ooh and ahh as she showed him my old Beatles collectibles. I had taught her well.

     “This guy sounds okay,’ I said to my wife. “I can show him a few more things.”

     “Honey, don't. You’ll embarrass her.”

     “She’s just 17. You were that age the first time I visited you. Your dad was all over the two of us.”   

     “Yes, but things are different now. Hon, she loves you, you’ll always be her father, but let them have their space.”

     In no time, I stood at the foot of the basement stairs. Sitting on the loveseat next to my daughter, his arm around her, the two were so bunched together that there was space enough for a third person to crowd in. Max waved his free hand like I was his buddy. I half-expected him to say, “Hey bro.” I sure never behaved that way in front of my wife's father. 

     “Mr. McKenzie, I like your stuff.” He pointed over to my records, stacked vertically in a cabinet beneath the stereo system. “This place is like a museum. I’m surprised that you still have all these albums since, you must admit, vinyl is basically extinct, now just a form of quaint nostalgia. Such an impractical way of listening to the songs. Of course, I do understand they were a necessary step in evolution.”                                                 

     Evolution? Extinct? I decided to stick around and observe this smartass. I reached into the cabinet and pulled out Magical Mystery Tour. I withdrew the record, placed it on the turntable, and let it play. I passed the jacket over to him.

     “Oh,” Max said, surprised, as he read the song listing on the front cover. “I didn’t know that all these tracks were originally on this one record. It’s like a greatest hits collection.”

     “Just about all their albums could be considered greatest hits compilations,” I noted.    

     “Well, I get them on streaming and make my own assortments. I can do mixes of 20–30 tunes, even more. I can select from any album and create my own as I see fit.”

     Lucy’s face beamed as if saying, “Ain’t he something?”    

     “Max,” I said, “for a time, the Beatles tried to resist streaming because, back then, they intended the songs to be heard in a specific sequence.”    

     “Well, they should have known better. At least they got smart and gave in. You can’t stop progress. I do feel bad that, in your life, you couldn't do that.”

     In my life? Evolution? Extinct? Dodo bird?

     With his arm still around Lucy, I decided to squeeze in. As the songs played, I pontificated on  the production details behind each piece. 

     “Very interesting,” Max said, his head nodding up and down like a bobblehead doll. “By the way,” he went on, “I just finished an elective on the Beatles. Did you know that ‘Hey Jude’ is about John Lennon’s son, Julian?”

      “I’m aware of it.” Like decades before you were born.

     “Did you know that Eric Clapton played on ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps?”

      Is he kidding? He paid tuition to learn that? For the last twenty minutes, I've been giving him a graduate course. For free. With his arm glued to my daughter.

     Lucy knew these facts; however, she shook her head, hoping I would act impressed. With all my willpower, I forced a patronizing grin, the type that, had I been a mobster, Max would now be on his knees begging for his life.        

     Finally, when side one ended, the sounds of the unit piqued his curiosity enough for him to release her. The know-it-all rose and approached the turntable. He watched the needle rise and shift to its off position. At first, he stared at it, then he reached in and lifted the record. He held it, examining it like it was an artifact that might crumble. Bringing it close to his face, I thought he was going to sniff it. He raised it higher and looked underneath. “Oh my gosh!” Max turned to us.

     Holding my breath, I awaited the new revelation.

     “This is so ancient, it’s actually cool,” he said.

     “What is?”

     “There’s a side two! I didn’t know albums came with two sides.”    

     Like french fries and creamed spinach?

     I glared at my Lucy, but she just smiled at me. “I know, Dad, I know, but I really like him.” She held my hand and held it tight. “Let it be.”

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Joe Del Castillo lives on Long Island, New York and is a member of the Long Island Writers Guild. He has been published in New Pop Lit, Home Planet News, October Hill and Macrame Literary Journal. He can be contacted at [email protected].

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