My Uncle Wes’s Rock band was playing at “Meadowbrook Malls” indoor atrium at their annual winter festival, the day after our first trip to Chicagoland Rink. I had made plans with Dan the man Bruiser on the ride home last night to pick me up so we could check it out.
My Uncle Wes was quite the rebel. Well first off, he is an awesome guitarist and he’s been in a band ever since I can remember. When I was little, like five or six years old, my cousin and I used to stay at my grandparents’ house (Uncle Wes’s and my Dads parents) and watch him and his band mates practice.
What was cooler than Pluto was that his rock band had its band practices in the basement every weekend, so my cousin and I usually checked it out. When it came time for his band to take a break from jamming or maybe it was just because they needed to add some spice to their day – my uncle and his band mates would start messing with us. Uncle Wes would start whispering in between songs to my cousin and me, “Hey Phil, hey Mike, pssst come here.” Then he would say in a secretive and sneaky voice, “Do you want some Whiskey?”
I didn’t know what whiskey was back then and of course I know what it is now but I knew it was something we weren’t supposed to be doing. Uncle Wes would grab a couple of shot glasses and a very green bottle of “something” and then he’d continue his charade and quietly say, “Okay nephews, do you want to have a shot of whiskey?” He could barely keep a straight face he would be laughing so hard, “Here boys, drink a shot of whiskey.”
My cousin and I would go, “bottoms up” and drink down the lemon juice. It was only lemon juice but I didn’t know it at the time, he and his band mates would get a rip roaring real good bang out of this whole thing. In retrospect, I swear that my cousin Mike who was also my age, must have known what the word “whiskey” had meant because he would start acting all weird and wobbly and such after we had gulped down the “Whiskey.” And that would even get a bigger roar out of my Uncle Wes and his band mates, because they all knew that is was really just a placebo. I can still remember watching my cousin stumble and fall all over the place like a drunkard; a lemon juice drunkard.
Anyway, that’s my crazy rocker Uncle Wes. There’s actually way more, I could go on for hours but I don’t have time to tell you everything, but let’s just say this; my cousins and I had to endure our fair share of fart machines, which I’m sure you can figure out what that was. And we had been given plenty of “hot treatments.” The hot treatment consisted of my Uncle taking us for a car ride, and then he’d crank the heat up in the car on a summer hundred degree day for a hundred hours in a row and keep the windows SHUT! Well, actually it probably only lasted about one minute, but when you’re five or six years old, it seemed like hours. But you know what? An Uncle is supposed to corrupt their nephew in some way shape or form otherwise they might get their Uncle card revoked. It’s true.
Everyone gets hazed once in a while, nowadays any kind of hazing and you make nationwide news, but anyway you ought to see my Uncle Wes thrash some licks on the guitar. He doesn’t just play rock n roll and blues. He plays other very complicated cool stuff; like Beethoven, Bach, and other classical pieces that he has reworked into guitar solos. It’s pretty damn cool to watch, that’s for show YO! Heck Uncle Wes can even light the guitar on fire and play with his teeth, it nearly burns his eyebrows off but he’s that good. Well, maybe I’m embellishing a little bit, but it’s hard to describe just how good he is unless I tell it to you in that way.
I had a couple of minutes before Bruiser was going to be at my crib to pick me up for Uncle Wes’ show, so I started making the “NSR” phone calls. Boogie Bob sounded the same as yesterday morning. He was wide awake one minute and then drifting in and out of sleep the next, which I attributed to his last phases of chemo withdrawal and all.
I told Bob about the break battle, the shoes ante, and the fifty bucks and he was all cool with it, he sounded excited as all heck for a minute or two. I guess I’d be excited about anything that meant I was no longer in a stinkin’ hospital anymore too. Then he must have drifted off to sleep again because the phone went quiet. So I shouted into the phone to wake him up, he answered, “Phil … Kid … I will be there in high spirits … for the battle – you said fifty bucks right? … But come by this joint in the middle of the week … I’ve got to tell you something. Okay kid?”
“Fow show my man, I’ll be there like sab wah faire,” I told him.
Bob soporifically reiterated, “Just come by in the middle of the week.” He sounded very earnest and supplicating, so I agreed.
He hung up the phone or fell asleep before I could even say, “I will see you again.”
Next I rang up Chi girl. When I filled her in on all of the details about the wager and such, she was hardly thrilled, but took the news like one of the boys and said, “Well Phil, we better win this thing; I don’t want to explain to my mom why I am coming home in socks. So we better win. That’s all.”
Moments after I got off the phone, I heard the rough sound of Bruiser’s muffler or lack thereof in the driveway.
“Sup Bruiser? What izzzz doing?” I said as I got into his ride.
Bruiser replied, “I’m just chill for rill! So do you think that there will be any breakers up at this mall today?” he asked as I got into his ride.
“A couple of breakin’ cats from school told me they would be up there,” I told him.
On Friday at school, I had told Hazy and Isaac to meet me at the Laundromat in Meadowbrook Mall just after lunch time on Sunday. The Laundromat was only a five minute walk to the music festival. I picked the Laundromat as the meeting place because they had a yellow cabinet, stand up Pac Man arcade game in there and I was somewhat of a Pac Man addict to be honest with you. I have even been diagnosed with “Pac Man Fever” before, there’s a whole song about it. Well, that’s why I picked that Laundromat as our meeting place.
I had never hung out with those cats outside of school before but when we were in the hip hop hallway last Friday and I told them that I was going up to “Meadowbrook’s Winter Music Festival” and droppin’ some breakin’ to rock and roll, they were all over it. Hazy told me, “Dude I’ve never gotten down with breakin’ to rock and roll before - that sounds all crazy.”
And Isaac added, “Dude, the punkers have a mosh pit but now we can give your Uncles rock band a breakers pit.” Anyway that’s what my friends from the hip hop hallway at school had said about breakin’ to rock and roll, which really seemed to intrigue Dan too.
Bruiser pulled up to the Laundromat and I tried to see if they were there yet, but I could barely see inside the fogged up glass windows, except for the yellow cabinet of the Pac Man machine, a neon sign that was in the shape of a hanger, along with another neon sign that was flickering, “OPEN.”
Someone was standing by the yellow Pac Man machine, wiping off some of the steamed up glass, and looking outside as Bruiser and I got ready to get out of his ride.
Hazy, Isaac, and Dustin were all huddled around the Arcade game, “The ACA Collective is in full effect,” I said to Dan more or less at random once I realized it was them. As I hopped out of Bruiser’s ride, Dustin and Isaac came out to greet us with poppin’, lockin’ and wavin’, while Dan’s car stereo was still jamming.
Bruiser’s car sound system was playing: “Din Daa Daa” by George Kranz, sparking Dustin into top rockin’ and Issac into chanting along with Bruisers’ cassette player, “Bim Baa Baa Bim Boe Boe – Bim Baa Baa Bim Boe.” While Isaac sang it, he was looking at this girl, just down the mall.
We all caught on pretty quickly that he was singing a parody of the melody because there was this totally hot, hoe-ed out skeezer, dressed like a “Bimbo” standing just down the mall from us. She was dressed like a straight up hoe; clothes that were two sizes too tight, too small and salaciously seductive. – Not that any of us minded or anything. But if a girl dresses like that; she’s going to get talked about, I’m not saying its right, I’m just saying. Young boys will be boys.
Bruiser turned off his car and cassette deck and then Dustin started to chime in with Issac. Even though the song was no longer playing from his car, the chant had kept going anyway, “Skee bop ba Skee bop ba Skeezer, Skee bop ba Skee bop ba Skeezer”
Then I joined in the fray, “Hump hump hump hump hump hump hey hoe hump hump hump hump hump hump hey hoe.”
Bruiser had no choice but to join in on the fun too. The four of us were singing “Tromenenz” in parody as loud and hip as we could while passersby watched with smiles; even the hot Bimbo-ed out chick had smiled at us – she probably didn’t know we were busting on her. Everyone just thought we were singing; fire barrel singing without the fire barrel.
We had even been loud enough that we could see Hazy, who was still inside of the Laundromat playing Pac Man, was grooving his shoulders, boppin’ his head along, and mouthing the words to, “Din Daa Daa” as he rocked his game.
Hazy had finally been eaten by a monster and came out of the foggy windowed Laundromat to join us outside, “Sup Phil K Swift,” he said while shaking my hand with his usual smug smile. He was a real smug bastard, but we were still friends.
Isaac and Dustin were still vibin’ as Hazy said, “You guys were grooving it for real, I was dancing along while I was playing. I was diggin’ it.”
I cut off Hazy out of excitement, “This is my buddy Bruiser, he is my manager.
“Manager of what?” Hazy said with a sideways glare.
Bruiser jumped in, “I’m a manager of a bunch of knuckleheads is what. “
Bruiser locked the doors on his car and the five of us started walking towards the indoor atrium where the shin dig was supposed to be taking place. While walking, Hazy commented on my nameplate, “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet but your sharper than sharp NSR plate is totally fresh!”
Dustin chimed in, “Yeah fresh!”
I briefly thought about Rockefellers mocking comments about suburbanites that use the words “fresh” or “straight up” and other shiznit like that to sound like they’re from the “city” and all. But I didn’t say anything; I was one of those suburbanites that talked like that once in a while too. Sometimes I used that vernacular when I was really in the mood. And sometimes I used words like “vernacular” when I was in that kind of mood. I was not trying to pose, I just liked the way all of the different words sounded – that’s all. I like words, whether they’re from the dictionary or from the streets; it’s all good in the hood.
So anyway, I told Hazy, “Yep, having one of these nameplates around your neck is just like sporting a boner … SPORTIN’ DA BONER!” which sent out a cascade of all five of us saying that phrase like a million times each. Brock and I always said it, but the other three had never heard our expression before. They couldn’t stop saying it. After a few minutes Dustin, who didn’t get it, asked, “A boner … around your neck? What are you freakin’ talkin’ bout?”
“This NSR nameplate lets everyone know that I am for real. That’s what it means. When I say I am ‘sportin’ da bona’ – I am saying that I have swag, big balls, brass nuts, and I’m lookin’ good,” I said empathically. “This NSR nameplate around my neck lets everyone know that I’ve got a big one.”
Bruiser started laughing and said, “If the nameplate is your bozak then you have nipples for nuts.”
“I’ve got a couple of bowling balls brah,” I extolled.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, pinhead,” Dan said with well placed verbicide.
“STRIKE,” I yelled.
“I can hear some banjo twangin’ coming from yonder,” I told the guys as we got closer to the “winter music fest.”
“Sup with that? You said it was a rock concert,” Bruiser said.
“I guess my uncle wasn’t kidding when he said the music was going to be diverse.”
Hazy and Dustin started singing, “Din Daa Daa” again, but this time they added a little yodel twang to their pitch as they sung along to the banjo, only this time they had used the actual lyrics.
I shrugged my shoulders, “I guess that’s the band that goes on before my Uncle Wes because I know he goes on in about fifteen minutes or so.”
By the time we had made it inside the atrium where the winter music fest was being held, “Mr. Banjo man” had finished. I saw my Uncle, “Wes Lee K” tuning up his guitars, chatting with his band mates, and whatnot.
Uncle Wes had rock star messy hair that was the Beatles meets Bon Jovi. He was sporting leather pants, a leather vest, and had no shirt underneath. Wes spotted me, waved, and then got back to getting ready for his show with volume checks and all of that shee-ott.
Practically at the same time, we all noticed some cats rockin’ the B-Boy regalia from across the packed atrium: Some of them were rockin’ track suits, Kangols, Cazals, tight fitting body suits and one of the cats was carrying a boom box. B-boys had been sprouting everywhere lately, so it was of no surprise that we had ran into some other breakers that day.
Bruiser started fooling around with the ACA cats and me, “Alright guys, get ready … I’m going to go over to those B-Boys,” he said while pointing to the guy that was holding the black boom box, “I’m going to tell them that you guys want to battle for pants. Loser has to go home in their underwear,” Bruiser said as he stared at me with this mocking look in his eyes and winked.
Then Hazy jumped in with a smart assed look on his mug and said, “Who would be stupid enough to battle total unknowns for something crazy like clothes or shoes or something.”
I looked at Bruiser and said, “I take it you told Hazy about our battle next Saturday with the Hip Hop Breakers?” I knew it had to have been Dan, since I hadn’t gotten around to telling Hazy yet.
Bruiser shook his head “no” but said, “Yes” then he shook his head “yes” and said “no” with a smart aleck wink and smile.
Hazy continued, “Dude are you going to wear your new seventy dollar suede gym shoes with the fatty fat laces when you battle those guys next week?”
“For show my bro, what you know about dough? We are going to stomp that foe and treat ‘em like a five buck hoe. Don’t make me poke your eyes like Moe,” I said.
Hazy laughed and said, “Heck no, don’t be low, cuz I said so, but if you lose your gonna be po.”
Then Hazy slipped away from me and started top rockin’ by this group of girls that looked like “rocker girls.” They were wearing suede jackets with the fringe around the waist, they had long hair with bangs, and one of the girls had an “AC DC” purse. All the while I watched in excitement as my Uncle was taking the stage.
I watched my Uncle “Wes Lee K” and his band mates dart to the stage in a hurry. They grabbed their guitars, bass, and drum sticks and jumped into their set. The way they had all ran and then jumped onto the stage had made them look like paratroopers would have, if they had landed on the ground with instruments in their hands and then just started jamming. Their entrance was that grand is what I’m saying. The crowd of three hundred or more started going nuts as they stomped on the gas and got into their set.
Uncle Wes was strumming a danceable rock melody with his lead guitar; the drummer kicked it in extra hard while banging his head to the rhythm, and the bassist followed the enthusiasm by plucking a hard ass bass swing.
Wes began to captivate the crowd with a monster guitar thrashing while the look on Uncles face told me that he was giving it everything he had – his guitar solo was very “Eddie Van Halen-esque.” The screaming crowd of hundreds started to get me amped. I started to stretch out a bit without trying to make it obvious. But Hazy who was only a few feet away from me, started reading my mind and began up rocking in my face.
We started up rock battling against each other right there on the spot to Uncles mad guitar solo. Bruiser circled around us a bit, sensing that we were about to get on down with breakin’. He was trying to push the crowd back to make room for us. I started to feel some of the crowd’s eyes on me as Hazy and I went at it. It felt kind of different, yet cool, to up rock battle against Hazy to rock n roll instead of hip hop or house for a change. It felt like a mosh pit. It really did.
Uncle Wes spouted into the microphone, “Yeeeah! How’s everybody feeling out there?”
The crowd cheered.
“Phil K Swift is rockin’ the floor right now … show us what’s up with that B-Bop Break dancing Phil, ” Uncle Wes said with fervor and then put the microphone back on the stand and jammed his guitar like a madman.
Without further ado, I leapt down to the ground into super fast pennies but I was abruptly stopped by some random spectator who wasn’t paying attention to the break circle. He had walked right into my windmills in mid spin, which totally stalled my routine. I’m sure it hurt him more than it had hurt me but neither one of us was all that happy about it. I had to stop and shake off my wounds for a minute, but it was all good, Hazy started top rockin’ again and I just watched my Uncle Wes rock it for a few.
Then Hazy jumped into the circle and started crab walking. Wes Lee K got back on the mike and said, “Alright rockers, breakers and rollers Wes Lee K band is going to shake things up, turn things out, and show you all what it’s all about!”
It seemed like out of nowhere, our cypher had thickened up with breakers. I didn’t even see them coming, it was as if everyone had just appeared. As they got closer, I recognized a few of them too. “Braun, AJ Fresh, Pauly G … Sup Y’all … if I’d have known that was y’all standing by the concession stand I’d have come over to y’all sooner,” I said to the three cats that had just joined our cypher.
“Sup y’all,” Braun said with a jocular smirk that mocked my use of the greeting “y’all,” while the others gave me handshakes in requite.
I had rocked breakin’ with these guys a few other times around town and such. AJ Fresh was the dude that was holding the black boom box that I told you about when we had first walked into the winter music fest, only he was far away at that point and for all I knew his boom box was really just black paper bags. - And oh yeah, that “y’all” thing I had just spit out. I can really throw the “y’alls” out da side of my neck sometimes. I vacationed in Georgia a few years back and it sort of grew on me, so it slips out once in a while. Y’all know what I mean?
I also knew Braun Drix and AJ Fresh from hanging out at McCollum Park on random weekends or after school. When no one was around my hood to hang out with; meaning if Blazin’ wasn’t around, I would go up to the park and they would be there. It seemed like every time I went there, they’d be there. I’d go up there by myself and they would be there rockin’ with AJ’s boom box on the shuffle board ground, next to the cardboard they had brought with.
The third B-boy of their bunch was, Pauly G., whom I had met at McCollum Park originally but had also run into at Suburbanite rink the other night. Everything Pauly said was in a rhyme. At Suburbanite, he said something like, “Do you know where the can is man, I’ve got to go pee before it flees down my knees and everyone says jeez Louise.”
I forgot I had told him about the winter music fest, otherwise I might have recognized him from far away. I am always forgetting things; I am such a scatter brain sometimes – it’s part of my charm.
Up close he was unmistakable; all you had to do was look at his hat. It looked like he had worn his Bermuda Kangol hat a zillion times, it was the most flat, and tattered hat you have ever seen. Gilligan from the island had nothing on him. Pauly must have touched his hat every five seconds when he talked – and he was always talking, rappin’, and rhymin’.
The music was crazy loud but that didn’t stop old Pauly from spouting his rap lyrics at me like a freak show. Pauly had come up to me and started spitting his rappin’ and beat boxing right in my face; he wasn’t good at giving people their own space.
In fact, the first time I had met him, he came up to me and acted as if he had known me for years – only I barely knew him. He got “all up in my grill” is what I’m saying. But he was cool, he didn’t mean anything by it, he just didn’t understand “personal space.” He was just a “close talker” with a tattered hat who rhymed every darn word out of his mouth. Even his coughs and sneezes had patterns.
My Uncles band was rockin’ freakin’ loud, so other than the first words Pauly had said to me that day, I couldn’t really hear him, “Sup y’all, they call me Paul. Pauly G, baby that’s me” But then I didn’t really hear the rest. I didn’t want to be rude and ignore Pauly so I nodded along but I sort of wanted to hear my Uncles band too. I swear Pauly never stopped moving his mouth the whole time he stood next to me. And he stood next to me for hours.
While Pauly G rapped my ear off, AJ Fresh started to hop around the break circle like a pumped up mo fo. He was skipping, up rocking, jumping, and top rockin’ like a kid splashing in a puddle. Then he did this thing that made him look like a heavy weight boxer about to enter the ring with all of his jaunty jumping. Then AJ Fresh threw himself into a twist and onto the ground and did a move very similar to Brocks’ beach ball, only he dove to the ground, spun about five times, and then popped back up to his feet. Blazin’s beach ball was more of a dive, one spin and then back to his feet.
Another cat that I had seen at McCollum Park but had never learned his name had just arrived at the fest. Braun Drix went over to him and I heard him say, “Blake! You’re late dude – your watch is always a minute past 420.” And that told me volumes about Blake and why he was late.
I later learned his name was Blake Kleinfeld. Right when he had arrived, the dude Blake wasted no time, and dove into the cypher. He rocked out lightning quick helicopters into pennies and then he popped into a freeze. Many of us had copters but Blakes’ were twice the rate of speed as anyone else in our crew had ever rocked, which really caught Dan the man’s attention, “Old boy izz going izz-off,” he said boisterously over Uncles music.
“Word, he’s got speed,” I agreed.
Dan leaned over and told me, “You ought to ask those guys to join our crew. They are straight up going bonkers … berserk I say - berserk. Hit them up. We could use a few more B-boys for next weekend.”
“Word, you might be right,” I told Bruiser.
While Blake was wind milling, down rocking, and attempting to do air tracks in the break circle, Dan was talking about his new “gal pal” - you know, the one from Dorktown mall that day. All the while Pauly G was flappin his gums about how he was going to be the next big rap star. They both were talking to me at a million miles per hour and I wasn’t very good at listening to two people talk at once, if you know what I mean, jellybean? But I tried.
When Braun Drix took another turn in the cypher I told Dan, “Braun is always boasting of his elbow spins, so check this out.”
Braun spent most of his time attempting elbow spins whenever I had seen him. That was his signature move. I had never seen him try any other move. He was Drix the elbow spinner and that’s all you’ve got to know about his breakin’; that’s all I know. But just as soon as I told Dan to watch, Braun was already done.
“Well, he did one that time, but he is always talking about how he can do more,” I told Dan.
“You should have seen the fish I caught last year,” Dan mocked, “It was this big” he said while stretching his arms crazy far apart.
At the end of Uncle Wes’s set, the music stopped and we could finally hear each other talk.
“Yo Phil, we ought to join up with you guys – you NSR’s … we heard about your get together at McCollum last week, and we want in your break crew,” AJ said.
“Absolutely my man,” I said out of surprise, “I was going to ask you guys if you wanted to join our crew.”
Pauly G said, “Yay man, that’s the plan, we want in your crew – add us and the rest of the crews are through, we will be the proud few; NEIGHBORHOOD STREET ROCKERS, “he screamed boldly as if he was already one of us.
Braun nodded in agreement.
“Yep, I’m in,” Blake said.
“Let’s do it! Lets become one big super crew. Welcome aboard,” I said to the four of them.
Then I yelled out, “Yo Bruiser meet the newest members of the Neighborhood Street Rockers.”
Dan Bruiser nodded and gave a thumb up.
I looked at my new crew mates and said, “The Neighborhood Street Rockers are battling next Saturday at Chicagoland Rink at 11pm sharp against the Hip Hop Breakers.”
“Cool bro, I’m in,” AJ said.
“Killa, that’s hella-cool,” Blake agreed with his California parlance.
“I’ll be there like Sab wah faire without a care, this aint no truth or dare,” Pauly G. said.
“Sounds awesome,” Braun said with glee.
“I’m glad you’re all in! However, there’s something I haven’t told you yet,” I said.
“Convenient,” Hazy said smart ass-ed-ly to stir up the pot. It’s funny too. I felt Hazy’s smug eyes on me the whole time they talked about wanting to join our crew.
“… The ante for the battle is fifty bucks a guy and your shoes are a part of the ante. Each winning crew member will get fifty bucks and a pair of shoes from the losing team,” I said.
“And vice versa,” Hazy added snippily, “if you lose… well, you know,” he cackled with smugness.
Blake, Braun, Pauly, and AJ started looking around at each other after I had filled them in on the news and none of them had said a word. It felt like they were all going to change their minds about joining up with us (NSR’s) until Blake broke the uncomfortable silence and said, “Sound good to me, I’m not afraid.”
Then, one by one, each of them had confirmed that they were “in” and that they would be there on Saturday night at Chicagoland Rink to battle as one big super crew; the Neighborhood Street Rockers versus the Hip Hop Breakers. We had grown by four more, just like that. It was on; on like James Bond.
We breakers said our “au revoirs” to each other and gave our BRUGS, and then I found my uncle and threw him mad props about his band and all, and told him, “It was a stone gas to break to hard rock Uncle.”
My uncle laughed and said, “I’ve had some wild rockers start a mosh pit before at my concerts but I’ve never had a bunch of breakers doing their thing and getting all excited like that before. I loved it. It was cool watching you break, nephew.
I’ve got to finish putting my guitar and amps away, come back in a few minutes,” Uncles Wes said.
“Rock on,” I said.
Then, I darted over and caught Drix, AJ, and Pauly who were getting ready to leave.
“We’re starvin’ like Marvin … give me some skin!” Pauly said.
I shook his hand (or gave him some skin) and asked, “Where are y’all eatin?”
“The dog stand at the end of the mall,” Pauly said.
“Did you say dog?” AJ asked and then started barking.
“See ya B boy, were going to grab a bite. Do you want to come with?” Braun asked.
“I’ve got to get home and do chores and homework, but thanks bruh,” I said.
“Catchya later,” AJ said boldly.
“Did Blake bail already?” I asked.
“Blake had to go do his thing,” Braun said as he feigned an inhalation sound while putting his thumb and index finger to his lips.
“Right on, it’s not my thing but whatevvs,” I said as they all started walking down to the other end of the mall where that Hot Dog stand was located.
“It’s not my thing either,” Braun said.
“If you knew what was in those things, you wouldn’t even eat ‘em,” I yelled. (I was talking about the hot dogs.)
This prompted Pauly and AJ to start barking like dogs again.
I went back over by my Uncle to tell him goodbye and he was already packed up, “Come on out with my band and me. We are going to grab some grub at the town diner; burgers, fries, and coffee -leaded; fully leaded; ITS ROCK N ROLL. I’ve got to get myself all leaded up on coffee nephew, you can’t beat the natural pump it gives you,” he said in his rocker voice. In fact, he always talked in a rocker voice. Real loud too. I mean, his loudness made it obvious that he was a leaded coffee drinker.
I regretfully told my Uncle Wes, “My parents told me I have to get home and do chores around the house, vacuuming, sweeping, and dusting … all of that kind of stuff.”
My Uncle scoffed, shook his head no, and then talked from his entire face, “Nephew, call them up and tell them: ITS ROCK N ROLL!”
“Rock n roll?” I questioned abashedly.
Uncle Wes demonstratively repeated, “When they tell you that you’ve got to get home to do your chores, tell them: Mom … Dad, I’ll get home when I can. … ITS ROCK N ROLL … Every time they try to tell you to get home for chores tell ‘em: ITS ROCK N ROLL!”
Uncle Wes had given this whole speech in his rockin’ voice, so I really couldn’t find a reason to say no. After all, he was Uncle Wes.And so I did, I called up my parents from a payphone. They told me to get home.
I told them, “ITS ROCK N ROLL!”
Then CLICK, Uncle Wes had hung up the phone before I could even hear a reply. It’s funny though, he was laughing in the same coarse exaggerated way that he had laughed that time he had given me “whiskey” in his basement some ten ye