Lisa Laird, 695 words

"Excuse me, everyone. This is Lisa, and she's into the 50's."

How’s that for an introduction to a group of people at a party? All eyes on me, waiting for something, maybe a nice a cappella. On another occasion, an acquaintance noticed my white socks and black shoe-boots. Informed I looked rather "1950s" that day, I assured the person that the look was purely coincidental. No great decision was made. I changed from sneakers into shoe-boots. That’s all--no big deal.

Even more ludicrous, if that’s possible, was when I attended a barbecue several years back. The music being played stopped abruptly. All of a sudden, Dion’s "I Wonder Why" was pumping through the speakers. I wondered why. What do you know--I was the reason! Apparently, the consensus was that I couldn’t survive a few hours without hearing a "golden oldie." Once again, all eyes were on me. Why? I suppose I should have been thankful. Never have I seen a group of people so enthralled by basically nothing.

I’m in my early thirties and listen to doo-wop. So what? Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been partial to the Oldies. Sure, I enjoy popular music. But what’s wrong with melting each time I hear the voice of Johnny Mathis singing "Chances Are?" Of course I find this music to be romantic, however, there’s more; one simple reason. Music during the 1950s usually had one very alluring element: Uncertainty. The lyrics often professed love and longing for a desired sweetheart. The Hope derived from this uncertainty has always attracted me like a magnet to metal.

Should this be so surprising? I’d like to explain why uncertainty is a key factor; and not only in terms of music, but also everyday life. I think the following example will demonstrate my point of view.

As a child, I desperately wanted a baseball glove; my father refused to buy me one. (The neighborhood kids used tennis balls, so I could still play) I always believed that the crucial difference between a good player and an outstanding player was the glove. If only I possessed that snugly fitted piece of leather, I would have known for sure.

On one hand, owning the glove may have proved it was solely capable of grasping baseballs, not dreams. On the other hand, never having owned the glove has its advantage: It allows me to hold on to the hope of an uncertain possibility, that wearing the glove would have transformed me into the outstanding player I longed to become.

Uncertainty allows me a sense of untarnished innocence. Fragments of my life remain as uncharted mysteries; ones I don’t want unraveled. Come to think of it, the most treasured memories I have occurred during times conclusions I dared to dream were existing possibilities. And so, why should my musical preference be any different in that regard? Why not cherish the uncertainty captured in the songs?

However, and this is the really odd part, somewhere along the line, I became synonymous with the 1950s era. Deemed the designated official in terms of the Oldies, campaigning is not necessary. I never lose an election. Not only do my perceived responsibilities include knowing who sang what, and when, there’s more. I have been informed of quite a number of ‘57 Chevys and old-fashioned jukeboxes for sale over the years. I suppose owning them would reinforce my cool, "Fonzie-like" image.

Gee, all this attention as a result of my taste in music. I wonder what would have happened if I fell in love with some other genre of music. Would peers have been as amused if, let’s say, my passion was Gregorian Chant? One can only imagine.

In a certain sense, my fondness of the "Oldies but Goodies" is a part of who I am. It does not define who I am; but rather, a contributing influence on the person I’ve chosen to become. Let others view me as the proverbial whiz of rock ‘n’ roll if it makes them happy. I must admit, it’s sort of flattering being revered...even as a novelty.

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