Watch your head!  Oh, too late. Blackness. Ambulance. CT scan. Repeat.

That might be a slight exaggeration – I was only rushed to the hospital in an ambulance for a head injury once.  And, it was so worth it.

I was 18 and in Ottawa at an outdoor day-long concert where my favourite band, Spirit of the West (SOTW), was playing.  They influenced me a lot and I was really excited.  It was a rainy day in August 1995.  I was probably wearing the obligatory 1990s non-descript jeans, t-shirt and perhaps even my blueberry docs.  SOTW was playing a mid-afternoon set and would be signing autographs after!!  My friends and I decided that if we got separated, we would meet at the autograph table after the set.

As predicted, I lost my friends in my quest for the coveted gates separating the crowd from the stage.  During the set, I soaked in the music and sang along… until it hit me.  Literally.  Doc Marten boot, meet my face. Awesome.  I looked up to see the disappearing figure of a body surfer.  The next thing I knew, I was being passed over the coveted gates into the arms of a security dude.  He carried me in front of the stage into the St. John’s ambulance tent.  Nooooo! I am going to miss the rest of the set! Priorities intact? Check.

In the tent, the medic dudes examined my face and head.  I pleaded with them to let me go watch the rest of the show and they said that they couldn’t keep me because I was 18. I signed a waiver and was gone.  Armed with a bag of cold water for my face, I wondered off.  I had a vague idea of where I was and where I was supposed to be going.

Soaking wet and covered in mud, I staggered to the autograph tent, striking up random conversations about incoherent things along the way.

Finally, I made it to the tent and found my friends.  One looked at me quizzically and said that I was acting like I was drunk, which was telling since at the point in my life I hadn’t ever had a sip.  What?! Drunk?

We inched our way up to the table where the band was seated.  Finally, it was my turn!  I got to the table, stared at the drummer, Vince Ditrich for too long, then kissed the table with my forehead. Yes, faceplant.  If I hadn’t been so out of it, I would have died of embarrassment.

Moments later, I was wrapped in hypothermic tin foil and sitting in Hugh McMillan‘s chair.  Way to make an impression. Soon after, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance and my friends missed the rest of the bands.  Oops.

Fast forward 2 months.  My brother and I were in Montreal to see a SOTW concert (to make up for the one I so artfully crashed).  As we were walking down the street who did we run into? John Mann.  Lead singer.  He looked at me and said “Hey! How’s your head?”  What? You remember me? But, I was covered in mud and that was 2 months ago in a different city! I said “much better, thanks” and he invited us backstage after the show.

For the next few years, I went and saw them whenever they played wherever I happened to be living at the time.  We hung out and chatted and it was a blast.

When Weights and Measures came out, Vince told me to listen to track #9; it was called Get Down Tonight.  I listened and told him that the story sounded familiar.  He said that it should.  Awesome!

I have been thinking about this lately because John Mann is playing some gigs in the area next month in support of his solo album.  It has been years and I doubt he’ll remember me, but I think I will go and hopefully get a chance to jog his memory.

As it turns out, that was the first concussion in a string of head injuries that lasted almost a decade. Yeah, that’s how I roll.  Maybe one day, I’ll tell you all about the other ones.

A few days ago, I was playing a CD of Free to Be You and Me for Q.  I grew up on that album and remember loving it when I was a kid.   Although the album was made in the 70s, the content was still relevant (which is bittersweet).   Later that day, I read this post by Christine at Lite Mocha Mom, and it got me thinking about my convictions and what has influenced them.

I’ve been told that I’ve always been hyper-sensitive to injustice and inequity.  As, the story goes… when I was 3 years old I found out my Grandma had had her married name longer than her birth name.  My response?  “What? No man is gonna take my name away from me!”  That is a lot of conviction for a small kid.

My dad tells me that from a young age, I would point out things that were “not fair,” even if it didn’t benefit me to do so;  I am that way to this day.  Little miss convicted.  I have to say I am proud of it, though I have learned to pick my battles and have realised some battles are better avoided than fought.

I think this conviction is part of my temperament… wired into my brain somewhere, but I have to give credit to my parents for fostering it and exposing me to things that would support it and help it grow.  One of those things was music, and Free to Be You and Me influenced me a great deal when I was young.  The album dealt a lot with gender role stereotypes and expectations and those lessons have stuck with me; I find myself teaching them to my son.

One of my favourite songs from that album is this one:

(If the voice sounds familiar, it’s because it is Alan Alda)

My tastes changed with age.  As I entered adolescence, my musical preferences were influenced a lot by my friends and my older brother.   Spirit of the West was one of the bands that I gravitated towards and who ended up affecting my political views a lot more than I gave them credit for at the time.

Here is one of my favourite songs of theirs – from Labour Day called Take it From the Source:

I was sitting in Basil’s with a friend and coffee
Thinking the world a fine place to be
When the man on my right got up to leave
And left a little piece of his mind with me
He said, “faggots like you should be put in asylums”
Now tell me, who takes the blame
For his being scared, so unaware
That he would fire his fear without an ounce of shame?

Whatever happened to love thy neighbour?
Nothing more than a worn out cliché
Are all men created equal or has this too become passé?
You don’t need to open your mouth for me to read your lips
I can follow the language displayed on your finger tip

They don’t look before they leap
They don’t think before they speak
They just sharpen their tongues on you and me
Spit poison darts between perfect teeth
You’ve got to take it from the source
Look at where it’s coming from
You’ve got to take it from the source
They’re only wasted words on me

I guess I just don’t measure up
Strayed from the straight and narrow road
So you lock me up, throw away the key
’cause I don’t live by your dress code
That’s ok, I’ve heard it before
You can open the wound I feel no pain
I don’t need an armour suit ’cause
You’re the one with the ball and chain
c. Spirit of the West. 1988

I hope Q grows up to have a strong sense of justice and that he recognizes and calls out injustice when he see it, even if doing so is not in his favour.  I hope that I have a part in that, but that he also exposes himself to influences and experiences that cultivate it in him.

Did music you listen to influence your political views and sense of justice?  What has influenced you and what are you exposing your children to, to encourage them to think beyond their own lived experience?