In the seventies and eighties, if you lived in a town that had a roller skating rink and you were twelve years old, you were at the roller rink every Friday night.
In Lawton, OK we had the “Skate•a•rena”. It was just a big metal building, with SKATE•A•RENA painted in black on the side of the building.
The back wall inside the skating rink had a big seventies looking mural. I cannot recall the specifics of it, but it was a big deal when they upgraded it to a pac-man and space invaders mural. The carpet was much like hotel hallway carpet, busy patterns, but mostly worn out from the skate wheels. It smelled similar to a bowling alley, but there was an extra something in the air, maybe perfume and cologne.
There was a girl that I had a huge crush on that I only saw on Fridays nights at the skating rink. Her name was Luchita. Every week, I would psych myself up to ask her to couple skate and every week I would chicken out. I did not know which elementary school she went to, but I was hoping she would go to my junior high. She did not and I would not see her again for three years.
My sister was two years older than me and was attending high school while I was still in junior high. One day, when I was fifteen, my mom had to pick up my sister from a friends house and I rode with her. My mom sent me to the door to get my sister. I rang the door bell and Luchita answered the door. I almost passed out and however that interaction went, I certainly do not remember it. It turned out my sisters new friend was Luchita’s older sister.
As soon as we got in the car I begged my sister to set us up. My sister obliged and ask her friend if Luchita was interested, she said yes. I called her up and asked her out. She said, I babysit this Friday, maybe you could come over there? I was freaking out. I could not believe this was happening. I said yes and she gave me the address to the place where she was babysitting. It turned out to be in the apartment complex where my dad lived, just a few doors away from his apartment. I was a little worried he might see me.
That Friday night I lied to my mother. I told her I was going to my friend PJ’s house. PJ was a long time friend and it was normal for me to go over there, so I knew it was a pretty safe lie. Strangely, my mother asked for PJ’s phone number. She never asked for phone numbers, ever. I was not sure what to do, but I ended up calling Luchita and asking for the phone number to the apartment where we would be. I gave my mother that number. That would surely keep my lie safe.
I rode my bike over there. She was babysitting a toddler and had just put the baby to sleep. We wasted no time and we went into the bedroom and started making out. She rolled over on top of me and then the phone rang. She had to answer it in case it was the parents. She picked up the phone and immediately got a concerned look on her face. She looked at me and said, “it’s for you”, handed me the phone and quickly got off of me and left the room.
I put the phone to my ear and it was my mother, she was hysterical and said, “Your father is at the hospital. He’s had a heart attack and they don’t think he’s going to make it. I need to come get you”. I gave her the address and then walked into the living room, where Luchita was. I said, “My dad had a heart attack, my mom is picking me up”. Neither of us really knew what to say, so I waited outside while Luchita stayed inside. I remember just starring at my dads apartment door. My mother came roaring into the parking lot, in her long, old black Cadillac. She was in a “Trying to look rich” phase. We loaded my bike into her trunk and away we went.
When we arrived at the hospital, they took us into a private room. A few minutes later, the doctor came in and told us my dad did not make it. He asked if any of us wanted to see him. My sister was the only one that did and that is when I realized he was in the room next to us, because her screaming and crying was on the other side of the wall. I will never forget those sounds and I will never forget her coming back into the room and screaming, “it does’t even look like him!” over and over while my mom tried to console her.
Luchita called me the next morning. She asked if my dad had lived and I told her that he did not. She just said, “Oh” and hung up. I never saw or spoke to her again.
In my early twenties I decided I was going to write a concept album about my life, age fifteen to eighteen. The album would open on the day my dad died and go through my marriage, becoming a father, my divorce and moving away, which all happened in under four years.
I wrote the lyrics to the entire album pretty quick, over seven days or so. The main problem was not only did I not know how to write songs, but I did not really play an instrument. I dabbled in guitar, but I was not good, certainly not good enough to record an album. However, in my head the music and melodies have always been there. Since I wanted to capture these songs any way I could at the time, I did the next best thing I could do and made it into a book.
I really wish I would have found a way to record that album back then. Even if it was terrible, it was story that I had never heard told. I wanted to be the one to tell it.
Time went on and I got better at guitar and songwriting, but I have always felt like the window has passed for that album. Later in life though, I am feeing a new connection to it. I am still not sure I could make this album, but I am emotionally willing to re-visit it and just play around with it. Reading this book feels like finding my childhood toy box, with the same nostalgia, but far less fondness.
I did a lot of terrible writing in my twenties and this book is no exception. I still feel proud for having done it. I put a lot of effort into it. I went back to my hometown back then and spent a day taking pictures of all the land marks that are in the stories that accompany the lyrics.
I am going to explore this book and these songs in the order they are in. I took the first song, “Luchita” and spent a couple of hours getting a rudimentary chord structure and recorded this track below. I tweaked a few lyrics and left out the last part.
LUCHITA
Thank you for reading and listening. I appreciate you very much.
I am also linking a past story here, because in this story I mention that my friend PJ was the only person to come over after my dads death and get me out of my room and made me talk about it. Thanks PJ. You were a good friend.
It was the best memory turned to the worst memory. In a second.
Life changes in a second like that. But looking back at what you experienced in 4 years…. Dad dying. Pregnancy. Marriage. Kid. Mortgage…. That’s a lifetime of memories right there.
Wow. Incredible story. Thanks for sharing