Bon Jovi brings a flood of memories to my mind. I mean, the band had about a billion hit songs between my elementary and middle school years. I’m pretty sure four of the 10 songs on “Slippery When Wet” were incessantly played on the radio. Surely, you’ve heard “Livin’ on a Prayer” more than once. It’s playing in my head right now.
Well, one of my elementary school classmates introduced me to Bon Jovi. She loved him because the each had an Italian last name. She proudly told anyone who would listen what she knew about Jon Bon Jovi’s history and why he changed the spelling of his last name. We sat on her parents’ couch, under a newly installed skylight. I was fascinated that her parents had a window to the night sky in their living room, but, really, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. My friend pointed it out; my eyes were focused on MTV.
I don’t know which crossed my ear drums first, but when “Young Guns” hit movie theaters, I swooned over Billy the Kid, and fell in love with the soundtrack. When I got my ears on “New Jersey” I found songs that would change my life and my understanding of the world. No shit. I was a kid, though.
Learning my idol was my Garden State neighbor and named an album “New Jersey” excited me with the sense of pride high school pep rallies never could. “I’m from New Jersey!,” I tell imaginary me, who stands tall with chest puffed like anything I ever did has anything to do about where I happened to grow up. That was the one place I didn’t choose, but it really means the most.
The band’s unending popularity extended to young girls’ birthday parties. A different friend of mine invited me to record with her in a recording studio session — in the mall. We chose “Born to Be My Baby.” By “we,” I mean the birthday girl. The song has tremendous vocal melodies and guitar solos, but I would have chosen a different Bon Jovi song. Mostly, because I smelled its toxic brand of i-own-you-baby. Don’t ask me which song I would have picked; I don’t remember. But I smile now thinking of past me wearing headphones and recording “Born to Be My Baby” just like the band did in the video for this song. Man, I loved Bon Jovi, but I had so much anxiety that my singing could end our friendship.
My singing sufficed; that wasn’t why our fickle friendship ended.
The sirens of middle school. That’s how I think about the few friends I had between second and seventh grades. Many times, I think of them when I hear Bon Jovi. Sometimes, it’s a good thing.