So, I’m listening to the station yesterday while slaving away here at work, and the Sinatra tune “It Was A Very Good Year” comes on. Great tune. I can’t imagine anyone else singing it. But the song comes on and I am instantly transported back to my childhood. I remember lying in bed one night, my eyes searching the stars outside my bedroom window. Even now, the thoughts of it bring me a certain comfort. I used to listen to the radio when I went to bed. It helped me fall asleep. The songs sometimes invaded my dreams. Even back then I dug stuff Sinatra and Dinah Washington did. I can attribute my taste to my grandfather who introduced me to this kind of music at a very early age. I wasn’t quite into Bird or Coltrane yet. Bird came around the age of 15 and upon first hearing him, I thought it was a bit of a scrambled mess. Even Tony Bennett said Bird played right in his face one night and he had to run outside and throw up. Now, that could be taken two ways, but I know what he meant. Bird’s sound is completely overwhelming. It knocks you right on your a** the first time you hear it. It took me a while to really dig what he was saying, but now he’s this jazz monolith to me. Incomparable. But not upon first listening and he didn’t even exist to me at the age of twelve. See, you thought I digressed right out of my Sinatra story, but I didn’t. I just did a little improv into the Bird comment then came back to the main theme. Listening to a lot of jazz will do that to you, even to your thoughts.

I’m lying in bed listening to Sinatra. “When I was 17….when I was 21…..when I was 35…” At 12, I’m thinking, “Man, I can’t wait until 17. I bet that’s a nice age. Small town girls and soft summer nights. I’m all for that.” 21 was a bit further out there for me and hard to fathom. I can’t relate to 21 at 12. Completely different world. And 35? That’s darn near cemetery time, right? Gray hairs and Geritol. That’s what a 12 year old thinks.

The problem is I am 33, almost 34. A year from now, I’ll be knocking on 35’s door. Where did it all go? 17,21…just vanished. I remember in the movie Hud Paul Newman telling Brandon De Wilde to get all he could out of 17 because it sure burned away quick or something like that. Man, was he right. What’s most depressing about the song is that after 35 Sinatra talks about being in the autumn of the year, being like vintage wine and all that jazz. When I was 12, I didn’t care about after 35 because I couldn’t even imagine being 35. Now, I want to know about 48 and 63 and 81. Keep it going! Small town girls at 17, City girls at 21, Blue-blooded girls at 35. Then what? I’m fine with the Golden Girls. Just don’t stop the music!!