My forty-year high school reunion in September didn’t make me feel old. In fact, I felt young again surrounded by my long-lost friends.
It’s always that way when I’m with my two brothers. In a way, we never age no matter how many lies the mirror tells and how far our attitudes diverge. How could it be any other way? We landed in life so close together, a span of twenty-six months to the day, and rooted next to each other in the same ground.
The passage of forty years came to mind tonight when I read of another four-decade anniversary tomorrow: the release of the Beatles’ White Album. (Listen to a fascinating NPR retrospective here.) Countless times my brothers and I listened to every song, cranked up as loud as our parents would tolerate. Whenever I hear “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” I’m transported to David’s room. He had the killer sound system and the most eclectic musical tastes. Read More
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