Stolen: My Youth
Josh Stinton
Issue date: 11/4/09 Section: Music
"I don't know if Pop-pop will make it to Thanksgiving," my dad said quietly on the phone. "I know," I said. "I'll come home as soon as I can." That was Wednesday evening.
When I walked out to my car on Thursday October 29, 2009, I noticed something was missing. It was actually a whole lot of something. As I opened the passenger side door to my Honda CRV, I noticed that nearly 200 of my CDs had vanished, and my CD player had been removed and a bottomless pit of red and yellow wire in my dash was all that remained.
I leaned against my car, numb and cold as if jags of ice had replaced the blood in my heart. "Oh no!" I gasped.
So I searched my car like a mad man. London Calling, the gem in my collection, was nowhere to be found among the debris. The album that I had bought in 10th grade that opened a window into a world that I knew next to nothing about was missing. It was an album that transformed me into the person I am today-a tad cliché, no doubt, but it's true. I would've never experimented with marijuana, made the wrong friends, or learned about the boundless world of music if it wasn't for that album. It was because of this album that I learned to make mistakes and I learned to overcome my mistakes. It was a godsend for me, and it changed me from a na've kid into a somewhat wiser adult. It has grown with me as it has grown on me-it is the album that caused me to rebel, just as it is the album that caused me to settle down.
My nostalgia quickly turned to anger. "I won't have any music to listen to while I'm driving home to see Pop-pop…" I thought. "How can people be so goddamn ignorant?" Why is music so important? Why is it necessary for me to have? It's insignificant in the grand scheme of things, right? Music is immensely important to me-perhaps too important. I'd like to think the crook who stole my music knew something I didn't know. Maybe he knew that I needed to have my thoughts to myself on my drive home, having just the sound of my tires, the sound of the wind screaming against my windshield and through my driver's side window. Lonely sounds. Sounds of sadness…
When I walked out to my car on Thursday October 29, 2009, I noticed something was missing. It was actually a whole lot of something. As I opened the passenger side door to my Honda CRV, I noticed that nearly 200 of my CDs had vanished, and my CD player had been removed and a bottomless pit of red and yellow wire in my dash was all that remained.
I leaned against my car, numb and cold as if jags of ice had replaced the blood in my heart. "Oh no!" I gasped.
So I searched my car like a mad man. London Calling, the gem in my collection, was nowhere to be found among the debris. The album that I had bought in 10th grade that opened a window into a world that I knew next to nothing about was missing. It was an album that transformed me into the person I am today-a tad cliché, no doubt, but it's true. I would've never experimented with marijuana, made the wrong friends, or learned about the boundless world of music if it wasn't for that album. It was because of this album that I learned to make mistakes and I learned to overcome my mistakes. It was a godsend for me, and it changed me from a na've kid into a somewhat wiser adult. It has grown with me as it has grown on me-it is the album that caused me to rebel, just as it is the album that caused me to settle down.
My nostalgia quickly turned to anger. "I won't have any music to listen to while I'm driving home to see Pop-pop…" I thought. "How can people be so goddamn ignorant?" Why is music so important? Why is it necessary for me to have? It's insignificant in the grand scheme of things, right? Music is immensely important to me-perhaps too important. I'd like to think the crook who stole my music knew something I didn't know. Maybe he knew that I needed to have my thoughts to myself on my drive home, having just the sound of my tires, the sound of the wind screaming against my windshield and through my driver's side window. Lonely sounds. Sounds of sadness…
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