The usual nut cluster of dreams swept me last night, providing a sea of material to think about. When the dreams ended, I began streaming an eclectic selection of songs. “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” (G. Thorogood) “Gloria” (by Laura Brannigan), “Wild Horses” (the Rolling Stones), “Will It Go Round In Circles”, Billy Preston, and “Kyrie” by Mr. Mister. But the last song was Bryan Adams, “Summer of ’69”.
Summer of ’69 was a good year for me, a thirteen-year-old white boy living in a middle-class suburban housing plan in Penn Hills, outside of Pittsburgh, Pa. I had a good cotorie of friends, and was playing sports, enjoying school, and meeting girls. Likewise, when the song was released in 1985, I was with a unit I enjoyed. Although I was traveling a lot, the song fit my mood. Released in June, it was a big hit by the time I returned from the field to America a few months later.
The song becomes a unique bridge then, between my early teen years, my early thirties, and now, my early sixties. Let’s rock.