Performer: The Who
Songwriter: Pete Townshend
Original Release: Single
Year: 1970
Definitive Version: None
When The Who released their
box set, Maximum R&B, in 1994, I was all over it. I specifically remember
coming home, putting on the disc that had Tommy stuff on it (Disc 2) and
cranking the volume all the way up on Sparks just to see how loud I could go
and not shake the century-old rowhouse to its foundation. It was from this
album that I got into like The Seeker, which seemed an appropriate time
considering I was seeking validation of my love life from, well, pretty much
anyone who would give it.
When Debbie and I crossed
the line from being friends to being lovers, I knew this was going to cause
problems. I wasn’t naïve, and I wasn’t being careless or thoughtless. I knew
there likely would be objections and things would be uncomfortable for a while,
but I believed that after everyone saw how good we were together, objections
would dissipate.
As I mentioned, I wasn’t
going to say anything until Dad and Laura came home from Torch Lake at the end
of summer, because I thought it was important enough to tell them in person,
not over the phone or in a letter. So I floated a trial balloon with Jin and
Scott—my closest compadres—whom I would have told first regardless.
Jin could’ve cared less. She
had been living away from Columbus for five years now and didn’t know Debbie
much. For all practical purposes, she was judging it like a friend would: Hey,
if you’re happy, go for it.
Scott, however, didn’t like
it at all—and not just because of how Dad and Laura might react. He had lived
with Dad and Laura from 1986 through college (I never did) and had interacted
with Debbie as a family friend a few times. In hindsight, it was clear he had
the best vantage point to judge how this would go over.
But he was uncomfortable
with it on his own. He recognized that a dynamic had changed—Debbie was no
longer just a benign family friend, she now was my girlfriend and all that that
implied. I had been hopeful that Scott would react more positively, but even at
the time, I conceded that he wasn’t wrong to feel the way he did. Just give me
the benefit of the doubt; that’s all I ask.
As it would happen, I was
planning to visit him about a week after I told him this news, and it would be
a bit awkward if he were still peeved. Well in advance, he had bought tickets
to the first Brickyard 400—the first non-500 race to be held on the hallowed
Indianapolis Speedway. I was as curious as anyone, and Scott could get decent
tickets (backstretch in the grandstand), so why not see what it was all about?
After the race, Scott and I had planned to catch a baseball game—a morning-day
doubleheader if you will. I would stay with him in Muncie.
Well, everything went fine.
I remember almost nothing about the race itself except that it was a lot louder,
longer and far more boring than the 500. (I’m just not a NASCAR fan.) Maybe I
can’t be properly revved up for racing at the Speedway unless I’m hearing Jim
Nabors immediately before the start, thank you. It was OK: Scott and I were
there more for the history than the actual event.
From there, we drove to the
late, great Bush Stadium, a glorious brick ballpark that had ivy growing on the
outfield walls just like at Wrigley. I don’t remember much about that game
either, except that at one point when the Indians’ mascot wandered through the
stands late in the game, Scott jumped up for a photo op with the said mascot.
But what I remember most was
how Scott asked out of the blue how it was going between Debbie and I. I hadn’t
mentioned anything before then out of deference to his sensitivity. You really
want to know? Yeah. So I told him, and from that moment on, he was cool about
it.
This, I believed, was a good
omen. Scott had gone from disapproval to acceptance—if not outright approval,
which was fine—in less than two weeks. It would take Dad and Laura longer, of
course, but it wouldn’t be too bad.
Of course, as I’ve
mentioned, I couldn’t have been more wrong about that.
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