THE LADDER OF MY LIFE

Guilty pleasure.

Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me—Elton John

When I was 8 or 9 years old, I was a big Elton John fan. There, I’ve said it…

Rocket Man was inextricably linked to cold winter nights looking through a small telescope in my best friend’s backyard. If there happened to be Apollo astronauts walking on the moon, we strained our eyes to see them jump…

Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me was the soundtrack to bike rides to Cold Spring Harbor, where we’d sit on the dock and watch folks unspool string droplines, hoping to stir a stray flounder to bite.

Harmony was playing at my friend’s house up the street when he jumped off the eave of his roof and landed on the middle finger of my right hand, flattening the tip and stunting its growth.

And on May 18, 1977, my best friend and I sat on adjacent swings in our local park, arms wrapped around chains and weight shifted slightly forward. We kicked at the sand, and sang loudly against the death that day of my father. We sang Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

All things considered, I guess there’s no reason to feel guilty…