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Category: Life
Early Years (1972-1982)
Once there was a boy and they called him Lee. Some people called him Lee Bob. His real-full name was Lee Robert Watson, or something like that. The name sounds to us a bit like a southern name, but he wasnt a southern boy. He was from California. Southern California and then, later, northern California. That would be cool, though wouldnt, if Lee Bob was a southern boy. Sorry. Im sorry to let you down. Lee Bob was, in fact, born in a very nice hospital in Newport Beach, CA, on a sunny, late December day. He was just over a month late on arrival--having spent a comfortable 10 months in the womb--and he weighed in at nearly 10 pounds. Or, so they say. Boy, his mother must have been the patient sort. At any rate, Lee Bob started things off in the world moving just a little slowly and thats just about the rate at which he chose to stay. When he was born, the family decided it was time to get rid of the dog, Princess. His mother said, I dont think I can take care of two boys and a dog. And the older brother, Eric Robert, was not all too happy about that idea. No. But, what could he say about it, really? Not much. He was four-and-a-half years ahead of Lee in age. For a long time, it stuck in Eric Roberts mind, what an awful deal he got the day they brought home a big-fat baby boy and took away his best friend, princess the dog. In preschool and grade school, Lee Bob was, by all accounts, a happy boy. He was unusually quiet, they say. He never said a word unless provoked or people asked him a question, at which time he would immediately offer an appropriate answer without much to do or anything. At any rate, he kept out of trouble and people liked him. In the pictures from the era we can see that Lee Bob was a toe-headed boy with an easy smile. He like to wear the casual attire of his 1970s southern California environsO.P shorts, V-neck velour sweaters, and Vans slip on shoes. He was handsome but not precociously so. He had a few marks on his face, they sometimes call them beauty marks. They didnt serve to distinguish him much, only to take the sharpness out of what could otherwise be construed as cuteness. Lee Bob was a quiet one, all right. People used to ask his parents in hushed tones Is he, you know, mute or something? The parents covered up the possible embarrassment of having a less than socially active child by giving the boy nicknames like Gabby and Talks-a-lot. These ironic names were light-hearted suggestions--attempts to embarrass the boy into speech. In a small way, for the family and friends, the nicknames made it less of a concern that Lee Bob was such an eerily quiet boy. Hence, the character of being a quiet one became a sort of trademark, and it would stick with him for most of his youth. One thing Lee Bob did say and he said a lot of was this: I know. This curt phrase was a simple utility. Lee Bob, its time to clean your room. I know. The sum of 8 plus 12 is what? I know. And so on. He used this phrase like a rhetorical hammer. He would wield it to put a quick punctuation on a conversation, to avoid the unpleasant task of having to comment on something. It was an all-purpose reply. The phrase kept him out of trouble for a while. As long as he smiled and was cute enough, the good people of Westminster, CA never bothered to expect more out of Lee Bob. One day, however, he had a run in with his brother about the matter of his all-purpose phrase. Eric Robert had heard just about enough of it. One thing you should know about Eric is--as much as Lee Bobs trademark was being the quiet one--Erics notoriety came from his instant ability with electronic gadgets and mechanical things. From a very young age, Eric could fix, take apart and/or assemble just about anything electrical or mechanical. Well, one day Eric Robert had been explaining to Lee Bob the inner workings of the microwave oven--that miracle, do-it-all kitchen product of the early 80s. While the older brother explained how that new gadget in the house worked, Lee Bob replied to each new fact with the standard punctuation: I know. Well, you see, the microwaves activate the water molecules and get them to move really, really fast and that gets the food to heat up. Eric said, doing his best to sound like an old scientist without being too boastful of his knowledgeas if he were simply providing a public service in informing the younger boy. I know, said Lee Bob. And you cant put metal in there because the older brother began. I know, the younger interrupted. Well, it seems, the older brother had finally had it at that point, and he screamed into the younger boys ear. You dont know. You dont know. You dont know, dammit! And, thats why Im telling you, because You Dont Know. Eric was right, of course. Lee Bob had no idea how the microwave worked. He was just participating in the dialogue in the only way he knew how. But, the incident did start Lee Bob to thinking. Maybe I dont know everything. He thought. No, now that I think of it, I certainly dont know everything. Why do I always say that, anyhow? I know, I know, I know, its a strange thing to say, dont you think, if you dont really know? Strange. With that thought, the 6 year old boy set off on a new direction in his life. He would have to find some new phrases. Having gained awareness of what he was doing--using and re-using the same tired old phrase over and over againLee Bob would have to search for other ways to mix it up a bit. He would try to speak more--try to interact with people. He would try to take is mothers advice, try to talk to people, its nice. He wasnt sure about it, though. Its nice. Does that mean its a fun thing to do. Is it supposed to make me feel better? Or is it nice, like its just the right thing to do, like helping an old lady across the street? Is it that kind of nice? Regardless, he would try to find more things to say. He would try to do what was nice. Still, he couldnt resist the urge to deflect attention from himself. Most times, when caught in a conversation, he couldnt wait to put an end to it. If only this (fill in the blank: teacher, parent, neighbor-lady) could leave me alone When the trauma of interaction was over--when he felt no attention was being paid him and nothing was expected--then he could go back to the serene habitat of his own quiet observations. From early on in his life, Lee Bob has held onto one distinct memory. It may not be his earliest memory, but it was truly a formative one. His parents were having a card night over at some friends house. The atmosphere was casual and everyone was in good spirits. The adults were in one room playing bridge and the kids were in the den watching some T.V. and playing video games on the Atari. The adult room was filled with moderate amounts of smoke, which leaked, in tendril clouds, through the wood-paneled partition between the two rooms, giving the den a cozy, sleeplike haze. Following the lead of one of the older boys, the kids had arranged the den into a lazy-boy and couch-cushion replica of the Starship Enterprise. As the kids were squabbling over the next game of Space Invaders, Lee Bob was swept off into a separate world of his own imaginings. From the crack through the panel seeped an orange light, not in a sharp line but in soft curves diffused by the smoke. It was the kind of lighting that can be achieved easily by putting a few carefully selected scarves around a common lampshade. From the boys perspective it gave a warm veil of mystery to the goings on in the makeshift card-room. The music on the radio was playing the soft hits of the daySeals and Crofts, Peaches and Herb and Christopher Cross, etc. You are listening to Kmel 98.6, yada yada yada the announcer interrupted, the smooth and easy sound of sourthern California. Its Saturday night and I just got. uhhem, I think the proper word is paid, Baby, This is Shadow Stevens and Im bringing you nothing but the soft hits, Baby, for your special Southern California Saturday Night. Then, the sound. A special kind of sound: the opening guitar line of Lets Get it On by Marvin Gaye. It was a sound that had nothing to do with the wood-panel walls, the parental card game or the childrens makeshift starship. It stood out in comfortable opposition to all that was familiar in the cloistered mind of the 8 year old boy. It beckoned him. He stood up slowly and purposefully--none of the other kids would have noticed. He cupped a hand around his ear and began to move a little side to side as if a small transistor radio was in his hand and right up on his ear. The beatnot too fast, not too slow--took control of his torso and his head began to sway from side to side. He was in complete rapture, lifted from the room into a trancelike state. This was an indivisible moment for the boya moment of curiosity mixed with instant knowing. This was the sounda transcendent blend of bass, drums, guitar and golden-light falsetto voice. It was the earthly incarnation of pure, immutable joy and grace. The strains of the music stretched out in front of the boys sightnot in pages of measures and notes but in smooth sheets of color, intricate interweaving strands, like smoke. It stretched out, outside of time. It took him out into a womblike plasma with itit bended around impossible corners and he bent with it. It looked at him with loving eyes, never threatening, never complicated never contriving or concealing. As plain as a flower and also an entire field of flowers as far as the eye could see. The song stretched forth in into minutes, hours and days. The small boy was in a realm now protected by a thin pillow of silence. And the boy thought, Now, I wont have to find the answers for the questions. If only I could learn to do this. And, with that nebulous thought hardly formed, he was awoken from his sleep. She shook him awake. He was in the sunken corner of the couch, in a pile of discarded potato chips, peanut shells and M&Ms. He was hoisted into his mothers arms and carried out to the curb, where the dad had the Buick ready, and they carted him off to their humble home in the suburbs. ithin the outer lining he could swim in the melody and the rhythm and he could even stop-time and analyze in a rather mature manner the inner workings of the song. It was as if the entire meaning of the universe had been put on a dish and place under his noseand here he was given a private audience with this mana from heaven for the ponder and seek knowledge and comfort from. The boy was a aware of the great gift hea had been given. What he was not aware of, what he had no way of predicting with his young heart, was the level of privation this unworldly knowledge would thrust upon him throughout his life. For, with the gift of music came the curse of knowing, or at least knowing of, something that is truly transcendent and pure---and tragically, he would find, it was and element that was otherwise difficult to impossible to glean from the ordinary existence he had found himself living. From that day, when the family, on an occasional Sunday, would drive out on the Superhighway to the Kings Gate Lutheran church, the little boy would sit in the pew and wonder about that tangled, emaciated figure in bronze leaning down over all the heads in the church. He didnt wonder, as some youngsters might, why the poor man had to suffer like that. The idea of suffering was not a great mystery to the boy. No, it was as plain as paper. It had dignity in it and a form of serenity, he thought. What confounded the innocent boy was this simple question: This effigy of the Christ, the Son of Man, the Great Redeemer, is that Marvin Gaye?
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Siddhartha
By Hermann Hesse
Release date: 01 December, 1981 |
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