Intention often gets forgotten when it comes to art and all that remains are interpretations. How others remember our insides in music or words or pictures is what survives time.
The girls signed up for hula lessons, learning the sacred moves of the kanaka. Moves of a gentle, spiritual sway where the hands told the story, sweeping and waving to talk story with each movement signifying a deeper resonance with the past and the people.
When the plodding piano intro of Don’t Look Back In Anger came through the speakers Oasis’ extraordinary had transformed our ordinary and the truck no longer drove but soared on the melody.
Even before the idea of children, the words haunted me. A porcelain pure girl who leaves her dolls and her prince and her silly old bear when adulthood corrupts her imagination.
After that moment where life seemed beautiful, my father had a visit from the sherriff’s department and ended up serving a year in county for elder abuse (though forgery and theft charges were dropped in the plea deal).
As mom and my older sister played The Carpenters on the car stereo I listened to MxPx, Face to Face, Suicide Machines, or Bouncing Souls on my discman.