the music

We all came from pretty ragged circumstances, actually. Ralph’s father had just left him, his sister and his mom for good. John’s old man beat him. Harry’s parents were about as absent as parents could be. My mother was religious to a craze and manic as the day was long. She wasn’t against smacking us around in the Name of God. Sidney, Floyd and Andy – who really knew much of anything about them? At any given time it seemed at least two of them were on the run from one thing or another.

But what we all had, too, was the music. We all had the music. “Dancin’ in the Streets.” “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.” “My Girl.” The list seemed endless – and for a while it was. The hits just kept coming, rolling out from Detroit and to us through that Windsor, Ontario, radio station we all listened to. And while we listened to it and while we played it, the music got us through what needed to be gotten through. In fact, it kept some of us alive. Most important, it kept hope alive.