Yesterday the song “The Final Countdown” came up on my iPod, and I immediately thought of my brother.
Before I continue, please get this video going. And turn up your speakers. Turn them up as loud as they will go.
My brother’s 14 months older than me, and when we were in 11th and 12th grade (Year 12 and 13) we had finally reached the age when having a sibling so close in age finally stops sucking so much. Instead of acting like total little bitches and tattling on each other from the backseat, now we were old enough to peaceably have the car to ourselves, and we were in total agreement about one thing in particular—every single afternoon, as soon as we started to pull out of the school parking lot, “The Final Countdown” had to be blasted.
I almost mean “blasted” in the literal sense. The force of the music beating out from the speakers felt like hundreds of small explosions, to the point where we would roll down the windows for fear that the sheer force of the volume would blow them all out, and the bass would rumble out with the intensity that jostles your internal organs out of place. I’m pretty sure that this daily ritual is entirely responsible for any hearing loss I may currently be suffering from. Hell, even if I ever get cancer I’m sure that it’d be somehow directly linked to this epically loud music.
I don’t really have a point in sharing all of this. Well, I guess my point is that I’m feeling a little nostalgic. It felt strange—and a little fantastic--to think that I’m studying to be a teacher and living in an Anglican seminary in England while he’s studying in a Lubavitch rabbinical school in the US, and I had to wonder how the hell we got to those places from that car blasting “The Final Countdown” in a high school parking lot in Los Angeles.
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