How My 15-Year-Old Self Viewed the World...and How It Looks at 30

Being a writer has certain advantages.

For one thing, as a writer, you get to fully appreciate how terrifically awful Aaron Sorkin’s Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip was.

That’s some deliciously, chewy stuff.

The best advantage to being a writer however is having heaps of past material to reflect on. Odds are good that most writers have been doing it since the moment they realized their hands were meant for more than just a pacifier. I know writers who have kept archives going back to grade school. I am no exception. I have a wealth of material from my younger days including poetry, short stories, and even an autobiography.

This past Sunday, I posted excerpts from a handwritten re-write of my first completed novel. The edited tome included a section that wasn’t in the original. It was titled “Interlude: Daniel’s Tale.” I inserted seven pages based on myself to round out the character who shared my name. The pages offer the perfect vehicle in which to blare Bruce Springsteen on the radio, roll all the windows down, fall into a thousand yard stare while holding a lit cigar in between two fingers, and contemplate how the hell 30 years went by so quickly.

I revived the idea for an interlude for my novel Sid Sanford LIVES! It has a slight twist (which I’m not going to tell you about because I want you to buy the book one day soon. Buy in bulk people), but I imagine it will provide 60-year-old Daniel Ford the same kind of insights that the 30-year-old Daniel Ford found in reading the 15-year-old Daniel Ford’s work.

My full glass of single malt scotch tonight will be raised to Daniel Fords of all ages and times, and to the men and women who ensured he didn’t end up in a raging dumpster fire.

15-year-old-ish Daniel Ford

A Soldier’s Tale

Interlude: Daniel’s Tale

Every turbulent instance in my existence, every bump in the road, every obstacle paled in comparison’s to my grandfather’s take of being heaved into the cold, unloved by his parents; war, man’s only true enemy; and being disunited with the person he loved most in the world. The predicaments that have crossed my path through my 15 years are those that confront every young human being. Similar to my grandfather, I have tried to live my life without regret. All the mistakes I’ve made, and I’ve made my fair share, haven’t weighed one ounce more on my mind since their occurrences. Each one has shaped and molded me in an improved person. I’m someone who can enjoy the blessed moments that life has to offer. Mistakes belong in the past. However, I would be a hypocrite is I said all mistakes stayed there permanently. There are a select few that momentarily suspended my belief that better days were ahead.

I was born with a reckless heart. I’ve been more than willing to give my affections to the opposite sex on a whim. The two “loves of my life” left me everything but unscathed. I met Audry my freshman year of high school.

I was totally unaware of the causalities I would endure in the months ahead when I pursued this eager senior girl. The first few weeks of the relationship were some of the greatest moments of my young life. I perceived things with her by my side that I had never considered real. I was on this impregnable pedestal. However, once again, a pretty face devastated me. To put it lightly, she began to feed at other troughs. With the assistance of a few divine companions, I managed to salvage the remainder of my dignity and peace of mind when I ended the relationship.

I think about her every now and again. I actually think more about the poor bastards she’s currently manipulating with her charms. Outside my grandparent’s house, I gazed up at the twinkling beings of light and contemplated that romantic mistake. I knew it wouldn’t haunt me forever.

Melissa didn’t walk into my life. She exploded into it. She was also a senior and we met at a school dance. I was convinced this was my time to find peace and happiness with a member of the opposite sex. However, like most romantics adventures in my young life, everything went terribly awry. Rapidly.

We hadn’t spoken a word to each other in two days. A fight over something trivial caused us to stop communicating. I summoned all my courage and vanquished all my pride to the bottom of the ocean, and went to her house. When I arrived something felt different. There was a different air surrounding her home…it was almost hostile. I will always shiver when I remember her mother’s voice.

“Melissa is gone.”

I didn’t cry. I was too filled with guilt at that moment. It was selfish, but I couldn’t help it. She had unlocked her father’s liquor cabinet and drank as much alcohol as she could. She decided to get into her car and drive through her neighbor’s living room. I piece of the engine pierced her heart. Her mother aged years in the couple of minutes I standing in front of the screen door. My mind and body felt 50 years old. I couldn’t shake the belief that I was the cause of it all. It was a stupid fight that one of us should have been able to forgive and forget about. What I didn’t know then was that Melissa was an alcoholic. When I found out, I couldn’t believe it. I thought I knew everything about her. She was an expert at hiding it. The guilt dissipated, but I was left with the cold realization I hadn’t been able to clear the air or clear the air the way I wanted to.

I shook myself from the reverie. That was enough living in the past. There were certain times though when I felt the wind blow through my hair and imagined it was her hand running through it. I think in this moment she was nearby, like she promised she would be always. I believed she wouldn’t let me make the same mistakes over and over again, which is comforting to someone who makes a lot of them.

A year after Melissa's death, I attended a poetry slam. I left that event with a friend for life and partner in love. Ashley was patient with me because I was hesitant to begin a new relationship. She was willing to wait and take things slow. It wasn’t until I stumbled across a note Melissa had wrote me at the beginning of our relationship. She wrote that if anything happened to either one of us, the other had to promise to live life to the fullest. It stopped being difficult to enjoy my time with Ashley after that. I’ve been having the time of my life ever since.

Since Ashley and I have been a couple, I’ve become a more outgoing and caring person. I was creating new friendships and memories every day it seems and the hole Melissa left was beginning to fill in. I started writing again. My family took notice. “Seems to me he finally dug himself out of whatever hole he was in,” I overheard my father tell my mother one day. Maybe. I wasn’t out of it completely, but that’s the whole purpose of friends. Without my steadfast buddies, who always set aside their own dilemmas to come to my aid, I’d never come close to removing myself from a depressing abyss. I have been blessed with the most caring friends a young man could ask for. Old friends I’ll trust forever and new friends I’ll be thankful for forever have given me new confidence. And of course, I always have my ultimate confidant ; an ally so enduring that not even the grim reaper would dare toil with her. She’s a friend that not every human being is as fortunate as I am to have.

My mother.

I’ve tended to look outside of my family to get inspiration. Looking back, there wasn’t a moment when she wasn’t giving me her wisdom, guidance, and encouragement. Sure, like all mothers, she sometimes came off as overbearing. However, I now realized she was only like that when I needed a kick in the ass. My mother always had free time to help me with the most trivial problems. She puts up with all the mood swings I inherited from her brothers. She’s lucky now that I’m rarely in an unpleasant mood. I’ll never again take her love for granted. I’m blessed for having been raised by this tough Frenchy. I certainly don’t tell her enough that I love her.

A gust of March air stung my face like a hard slap, causing me to return my thoughts to the ailing storyteller. Another source of inspiration was dying like an ordinary man. But I knew better. He wasn’t an ordinary man to me. Ordinary men don’t make you feel like you are on a cloud overlooking the crystal clear images of the past. Ordinary men didn’t hold the emotions of the heart and mind in rapt suspense. No, he was no ordinary man. He was a man of strong beliefs, a man of character, and a man of trust.

And he was dying.

Present Day Daniel Ford

10 Songs That Define Me

I’m approaching 15,000 songs in my iTunes music collection.

I’m not trying to show off. I have a genuine love of music that compels me to collect as many different songs and albums in every conceivable genre as humanly possible.

After putting myself in a contemplative mood by consuming a rather full glass of Oban single malt scotch one night last week, I tried to choose the 10 songs in my entire library that defined who I am.

Let’s just say that process didn’t take an evening. It was the worst kind of torture, the self-inflicted kind. My heart ached for the songs I had to eliminate from the list in order to get to the musical heart of my being.

Of course it was worth it, not only because it gave me an excuse to listen to some righteous, inspiring, rocking, soul affirming, get-up-off-your-ass-and-fucking-loosen-up-your-damn-hips tunes, but also because I got to reminisce about why these songs became so essential to my life.
  
”String of Pearls” and “In the Mood”

Let’s travel back to the 1940s for a moment.

The world is at war and one newly wedded bride from Baldwin, N.Y.,  is waiting for her husband to come back to her in New York City. She distracts herself by hotel bar hoping around the city, enjoying a couple of stiff manhattans, or dining with her father-in-law who people assumed was her sugar daddy. “String of Pearls” and “In the Mood” by the Glenn Miller Orchestra provides the soundtrack to many of those nights.

Lucky for me, Grandpa Ford would come back from World War II—a few pounds heavier thanks to devouring any C-ration other soldiers refused to eat—and be married to my grandmother for 54 years.

My grandmother loved when my high school jazz band performed these two tunes because it reminded her of a time when she was young, in love, and in New York City awaiting for her soul mate to return all at the same time. I couldn’t in good conscience choose just one. Here’s hoping she joins me in spirit for a drink in Manhattan sometime soon.

“Lost in the Fifties”

When I was a teenager, I compiled my favorite songs on cassette tapes. I’ll pause briefly for the youngun’s to Google what a cassette tape is.

Welcome back. Ronnie Milsap is one of the first country artists I remember following religiously as a kid. “Lost in the Fifties” is the first song on Volume 1 of Daniel Ford’s Favorite Songs Anthology (there were 20 volumes in total).

Listening to Milsap today reminds me of running errands with my mother on the weekends, having family dance parties in the living room, and not knowing enough about the world to care about anything else but having fun.

I don’t give my mother enough credit for sparking my love of music. The country singers she turned me on to are still an important part of my collection and I wouldn’t be the same guy without exclusively listening to country music the first 13 years of my life.

Including this song is my way of saying “I love you” and “thank you.”

“Everybody Knows This is Nowhere”

Odds are good that when I get into my father’s car there will be a Neil Young song playing.

Young’s discography has been on nearly every car ride I’ve taken with him, from the time he used to pick me up from elementary school to our reunions at the Waterbury train station. I had to choose something from the legendary “Everybody Knows This is Nowhere” album because it marked my father’s musical birth and is one of the records he remembers wearing out as a teenager.

The album’s title track has comforted me during my darker moments in New York City. It served as a reminder that when I did indeed escape nowhere that someone who loved me would be waiting to pick me up with never-ending guitar solos and cowgirls in the sand.

“Something in the Way She Moves”

When Neil Young isn’t playing in my father’s car, James Taylor probably is.

My father says that his generation would listen to Taylor to “come down” from listening to acts like Jimmy Hendrix. The man hasn’t deviated from his laid-back, melodic style and the world is a much richer place because of it.

Pretty sure my father and I wore out the cassette tape of Taylor’s first greatest hits album. This song in particular is one of our favorites because it sums up perfectly what being in love should be like for a man.

There’s not a bad version of this tune. And I think someone I know will appreciate the “Go Red Sox” shout out at the beginning of this clip.

“Mississippi”

Attending Bob Dylan concerts is what my brothers and I do to bond.

We’ve seen him at a variety of venues across New England and New York in varying states of inebriation. There was the show in Augusta, Maine, where my younger brother bought a slim-fitting women’s concert T-shirt; the one at UMASS where we had front row seats and completely ignored the gaggle of attractive, blond college girls in the second row; and the show in Boston we almost didn’t make because of a handful of tall Guinness pints at the Bell in Hand Tavern.

Since Dylan is hell-bent on trotting out the same playlist every time we see him live together—if I hear “Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll” one more time Bob, I’m charging the stage—my brothers and I will probably never get to hear this song live. This clip will have to do.

“I’ve Got the World on a String”

Listening to Frank Sinatra in high school confirmed in my mind that I was going to be a writer and live in New York City. “I’ve Got the World on a String” is how I thought I’d feel every day waking up in my apartment before I stepped foot in the city I was born to reside in.

Ten years here and it’s exactly how I feel.

“Superstition”

I want to believe this Stevie Wonder song is what my writing process sounds like: energetic, inspired, loose, free flowing, and adventurous.

For those that know me, my process doesn’t sound this beautiful.

I also can’t resist dancing to this song whenever it comes on. I was once at a wedding and everyone had just sat down to enjoy dessert. The DJ decided that it was a good time to play “Superstition.” I alone bolted for the dance floor.

Was I helped by several gin and tonics made with top shelf gin? Sure, but it wouldn’t have changed my reaction in the least. Best part was I remained completely alone on the dance floor. Not even my date made a move to join me.

I didn’t care. And I never will when it comes to this tune.

“She’s the One”

I usually start every half marathon I run with Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” but “She’s the One” ends up saving me at some point during the race.

I’ll feel my body start to fatigue and thoughts of slowing down will pop into my head when the opening keyboard and guitar riffs start pounding into my ears. My energy level and the belief I can make it to the finish line are re-filled instantly. The line “that thunder in your heart” that leads the second stanza makes my whole being thunder as my sneakers hit the blacktop at a faster pace. This song has a permanent spot on my ever-changing running mix.

Unrelated to running,  I’ll also add that if James Taylor’s “Something in the Way She Moves” sounds like how a man should be in love, than this song sounds like how he should make love.

 

“The Way You Do the Things You Do”

For being alive, young, and in love in New York City all at the same time.