This song has the “F” word in it… only once… in one line… so you may not want to listen… if it may offend you… 👇
I was born in September of 73`… a Gen X kid… when I look back now… I realize things…
Yeah maybe I was doing stuff early on that probably could have waited until I was an adult…
but life was different back then…
the world was wider… lighter… rawer… simpler… all at once…
And us kids…
we were all little grown-ups…
From the time I was about eight until I was fourteen…
life couldn’t have been much better…
I grew up in a fairly large community of side by side houses… side by side families… where everybody knew everybody… neighbors didn’t just nod — they shared life… they borrowed sugar… they brought each other meals… they sat in yards and talked about real things… hearts… stories… struggles… faith… loss… laughter…
It wasn’t perfect — but man… it was real…
My great-grandfather lived with us in those days…
he was one of a kind…
old as dirt… tougher than leather… stubborn as wet cement…
he had lived much… And he never ran out of stories…
He’d sit outside every day… in this beat up old folding chair…
And half the time.. I’d pull another chair beside him… and just listen…
He was a war veteran — A Purple Heart… other medals he earned through blood and grit…
Infantry… France… WW2…
he’d tell me stories of laughing under fire… marching… waiting… freezing… fighting… barely surviving…
And I’d pepper him with a thousand questions… because I couldn’t get enough…
Later.. I found out from my grandmother… that he had taken many lives in battle… those stories… he never told… those belonged to him… and God alone…
What I did see… was a man who had walked through hell…
And somehow came back kinder… tougher…
And still able to laugh a little… And love a lot…
And without making speeches… without preaching a word…
he was shaping the boy sitting beside him…
In those days… my parents worked…
so most times I had to fend for myself…
I had a house key… freedom… responsibility…
but there were rules…
Do the right thing when nobody is watching…
Be about character… Be about integrity…
Be about it…
Be a decent human being…
And oh yeah… be home by dark…
On the edge of our community… the world exploded into a massive forest deep woods stretching for miles… thousands of acres… trees… creeks… hidden lakes… trails… wildlife…
a giant playground for kids who hadn’t yet learned to be afraid of living…
I spent countless days exploring those woods…
fishing… riding dirt bikes… shooting guns…
no supervision… no phones… just trust…
Sometimes on Saturdays I’d wake up before the sun… pack myself a sack lunch and some drinks… grab my fishing poles and tackle box… strap it all to the back of my dirt bike… And disappear into the woods…
All… day… long…
Sometimes friends came along… sometimes it was just me and the world — And honestly… those were some of the best days…
Many mornings my great-grandfather would stop me before I left… hand me his old .22 pistol in a worn leather holster… And tell me to take it “for protection”… because us kids needed guns back then haha… we learned early… how to treat and respect a firearm… it was a great privilege… responsibility… And it was ours…
I’d strap it to my waist like a cowboy… fire up that dirt bike… And ride off into the blue…
Freedom… Adventure… Responsibility… Trust…
A childhood that felt like life training…
And I am grateful… deeply grateful…
Those years shaped me… they toughened me… they softened me… they taught me courage… solitude… resourcefulness… respect… curiosity… wonder… independence…
I didn’t know it then…
but those were Holy days…
And I am thankful I grew up when I did…
in a world… full… of little grown-ups…
`’x.~¡-^;‐
Also… my great-grandfather’s middle name and mine… are the same… Loia… pronounced Loy like Joy…
I forgot to mention my dog… Buck… he was there too… he didn’t live inside a fence… he never knew a leash… he was free to roam… just like me… he followed me everywhere… he loved to swim… while I fished…
I’m the blood on your guitar… I’m that wave You caught back in 1975…
If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why?
So there are so many historical figures I’d love to meet.. I’ve already met Jesus — I know Him personally.. better than I know anyone else — so let’s scratch Him off the list…
George Washington is one that fascinates me.. Most people don’t know the hidden pieces of his story.. It was like he couldn’t be killed in battle — as if something.. or someone.. was watching over him.. I believe that someone was my friend Jesus..
Native warriors supposedly had a name for him that meant “the man who couldn’t be killed by a bullet.” Maybe that part became legend over time… but the testimonies are wild.. After the 1755 Battle of the Monongahela.. one unnamed warrior said..
“Washington was never born to be killed by a bullet! I had seventeen fair fires at him… and.. after all.. could not bring him to the ground.”
And there were more stories like that — one after another — people watching him walk through battles untouched..
But as interesting as all that is… I think I’d rather meet my own family members — the ones who lived and died long before I was born..
About five years ago.. I started digging into my family history.. and there are so many I wish I could sit down with.. Some of my great-great grandparents had incredible stories.. One grandmother even had the same birthday as me.. Another ancestor lived a remarkable life.. I’d love to hear in his own voice.. and one grandmother died just before I was born — she was excited to meet me.. but she never got her chance..
I have famous relatives too — Richard Nixon.. William Penn.. John Penn — and ancestors who came over on the Mayflower.. I even discovered relatives who were directly involved in the Salem Witch Trials..
So yeah… as great as the heroes of history are.. I think the people I’d most want to meet are the ones whose blood runs through my veins… the ones who helped shape my story before I ever breathed..
Heart of Loia `'.,°~ 