A NAME WHEN I LOSE

Deacon Blues was one of my favorite songs when I was 12.

It had the perfect mix of fatalism and self-pity, with a hint of triumph, to suit my 1977.

It became clear in 1977 that the crush I had harbored for black-haired Shelley since the fourth grade would never be requited. I would never get closer to her affections than the jewelry box she fished from a neighbor's trash and gave me one day in 1975, with a short inscription of friendship on the back.

In 1977 I was in so many ways ready to move on, and terrified at the very thought of it.

It's a fine thing for sure to be 12...