[vignettes of youth - #1]
November 23, 2005
what a bam bam, bam bam dillam bam bam …
He leaned against the wooden-top island stove, and I sat hoisted on the matching counter by the kitchen sink. Both of us dressed in the typical loose fitting marina and house shorts. Both with two spoons in hand, one between thumb and index, the other between index and middle, convex sides facing each other. And the beat began.
what a bam bam, bam bam dillam bam bam…
Aaah, aaaa-aaaah, aaa-aa-aaah, aaa-aaa-aaa-aaaah… what a bam bam… I want you to know that/I am a man who/fights for the right and/ not the wrong…
[Soon you will find out the man I'm supposed to be]
We stood and sat there in the kitchen for moments that too quickly turned into a memory, rap-tapping the rhythm of this old time Jamaican tune, ad libbing the lyrics as we desired, seamlessly passing the lyrical responsibility between the two of us. A moment of multi-dimensional sibling harmony, captured in the confines of my selective memory… forever.
And I soon, found out who he was supposed to be.
