Inever lost you, I never really lost you How could I lose you, you were never mine
Delbert McClinton, Gary Nicholson, and Benmont Tench
If you’re past the age of 35 and I ask you where you were on Sept. 11, 2001, I’m confident you could weave a complex narrative around the tragic events that unfolded that morning.
Most Americans, as old as I am or the ones who actually paid attention in history class, can tell you the significance of the following dates: July 4, 1776, Dec. 7, 1941, Nov. 22, 1963, and April 4, 1968.
I’m actually writing this on June 13, which is a Friday the 13th. I’m not one for superstitious nonsense, but the poor souls who live in Israel and Iran woke up today with bombs and missiles landing all over the place. I hope all that is worked out to everyone’s advantage as soon as possible.
Friday, Nov. 13, 1970, was a cursed day for those living in East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) or India’s West Bengal region.
According to banglapedia.org, a powerful tropical cyclone struck that weekend and killed as many as 500,000, with a loss of more than a million cattle. That’s half a million people and a billion hamburgers.
But what if I asked you where you were on May 22, 1979?
Does your silence indicate ignorance concerning this important date in the history of civilization? And no, this wasn’t the date Georgia Power completed the Wallace Dam on the Oconee River, which eventually led to Publix, and then T. Michael Stone showing up for work one day at the Lake Oconee News.
So, let me enlighten you about May 22, 1979.
On that particular Tuesday night, I was at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta watching Alvin Lee lay down some scalding blues licks. He concluded the show with the Woodstock showstopper “I’m Going Home.”
The night before, Elton John had become the first Western pop star to perform inside the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. I missed that show.
While I was at the Fox the next night, two South Dakota students, Randy Rohl and Grady Quinn, became the first openly gay couple (as far as anyone knows) to attend a high school prom together.
I went to a prom that year, too, and the tuxedo I wore was so ugly the girlfriend I went with decided to dump me. Shallow hag!
But I had a new girlfriend by the time I went to see Alvin Lee again, this time at Rumors, on Aug. 17, 1983. I also had a free ticket. I knew a guy who worked for Ticketmaster, and he created duplicate tickets for a group of us. They all had the same serial number, but no ticket taker checked that.
It was a great show, but sadly, the new girlfriend dumped me shortly thereafter. That one was on me, unfortunately.
Here’s another date that resonates with me: Oct. 3.
On that date in 1995, O.J. Simpson was acquitted. I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of Rockdale County Hospital, listening to the verdict on the radio, because my nephew, Dylan, was about to be born.
But Oct. 3 was already a red-letter date for me.
On that date in 1992, I went camping on Horsetrough Mountain. We drove up there in two cars with my friend, Jane, driving the lead car.
Near the peak of the 4,045-foot mountain, Jane drove off the ranger road, and her car was caught and cradled by a couple of flimsy trees poking out of the side of the mountain. Without the trees, all three occupants of the car would have likely perished.
There’s a lot to that story I don’t have space to tell, but Jane’s near-death experience changed her, turned her wilder than she already was.
Her newfound wildness was utterly irresistible to me. And I suddenly wanted only one thing: to spend as much time with her as possible. In that effort, I was largely successful, but our adventures only lasted a couple of years.
She never made promises she had no intention of keeping, so when we went our separate ways, it wasn’t as if I had been dumped.
She was never mine to begin with.
Her Memorial Service was April 18, 2010. I miss her still.
Selah.