Flea Market Kings (excerpt)


Flipping through his mother’s records, the collection with something like thirty Johnny Mathis lps, it’s clear what mom’s preferences were. Even though, these days, she pretends she liked the Beatles. She’s well into her octogenarian years, and still actively marching up and down stair cases carrying dumbells for exercise. It’s OK that she pretends she liked the Beatles. But the truth is She didn’t care about the Beatles, she loved crooners. She’s got Neil Diamond’s albums, Stones, Gold, and Moods. She’s got a few old Julio Iglesias’ records. You get the idea, the Beatles were kid’s stuff, rock and roll was largely looked upon as kid’s stuff. She was a grown woman in those days, and she didn’t fall over for boys with guitars. But it’s hard to not be persuaded. When the world tells you what you love over and over again, eventually you kind of give up. It’s like a police interrogation, except that it’s years and years worth of badgering. Soon enough you believe you were a huge Beatles or Star Wars fan. Or whatever else they’re selling.

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