Hey Nineteen!

Way back when

In Sixty-seven

I was the dandy

Of Gamma Chi

Sweet things from Boston

So young and willing

Moved down to Scarsdale

Where the hell am I

Hey Nineteen

No, we can't dance together

No, we can't talk at all

Please take me along

When you slide on down

Hey Nineteen

That's 'Retha Franklin

She don't remember

The Queen of Soul

It's hard times befallen

The sole survivors

She thinks I'm crazy

But I'm just growing old

Hey Nineteen

No, we got nothing in common

No, we can't talk at all

Please take me along

When you slide on down

*

“Hey Nineteen”

“Wow...look at that! She's beautiful!” I thought to myself one time at the Ocean Mist in Matunuck. She was probably 22 and I of course, was too old. But seeing prettiness like that justified my flashing an ear to ear toothy smile at her. It's impossible not too.

We got to talking and I rightly guessed she was at URI up the road from here, a pharmacy major. The conversation was fun as she had a brain. What entirely threw me at one point were her comments on what was playing on the jukebox.

“Gaawwwd...I love this song!” she said.

I told her I did too, I always thought “The Tide is High” by Blondie was always great.

“Who?” she asked.

“Blondie...” I repeat.

“Who's she? Does she have a real name?” she asked.

I halt right there and suspect something's really amiss. Had I said “Blondie is a group...and Deborah Harry was the blonde lead singer,” I'd get another quizzical look, I knew I would.

She goes on:

“Anyways, I love this song. I think it came out last month. I was driving home to North Adams and you can't help but bop along to it!”

“...came out last month.” I didn't dare break her illusion that this song was new or that it was released in 1981. I looked down, then straight ahead as I realized just how different we two were. She kept rapping on about The Tide is High and I smiled, nodding and quietly killing any attempts within myself to pursue her any further.

We part amicably and I return to the 40 something guys I was hanging with.

“Strike out again did you?” says Marc.

“Nope..this time I took myself off the roster.”

“Huh?

“Never mind...I'll tell you later.” I say.

I haven't heard the phrase the “Generation Gap” uttered since the early '70s but it really still exists today. Sometimes it's thrown right into my face in the most unmistakable ways. Of course, the youth can throw this up at me, “Do I listen to Ariana Grande?”

“Who?” I'd say. “Did she play with Miami Sound Machine?”

Cue the eye rolls now.