On a weekly grocery shopping trip to Alpha Beta with my mom back in the late 60′s, I remember seeing my teacher there and being confused, wondering why she wasn’t at school in my class room. She was my teacher, not a regular person! My little mind surmised that she lived in my school room and never came out except for lunch or recess. My concept of authority was being shaped since birth, and it goes something like this: leaders are important; they have a great responsibility to enforce the rules–therefore, they are purveyors of what is right and what is wrong; they are our models of decency and honor. What does that have to do with my teacher, Alpha Beta and my high standard of what a leader should be? It is a great disappointment when our leaders fail to live up to our expectations,  the ones they taught us to aspire to.

I have been reading a book, Hellhound On His Trail, about the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. and the subsequent hunt for his killer. In it, Hampton Sides exposes the human failings of many leaders caught up in the surrounding drama, especially MLK. Not to sound naive, but I really was disappointed with the gaping character flaws that were evident in King. Of course he was imperfect. But he was a preacher, for goodness sake! He was married with kids at home–their pillar of strength. My notions of a perfect leader have been daily dashed, with disappointment littering the path, leading away from my moral training since birth. It all falls apart. Humans fail–miserably.

Even though I want to find a Jimmy Stewart, or a Frank Capra-like standard in my society to lead me, and to charge ahead into the uncertainty of the future, I am afraid that it doesn’t exist and never has. It is therefore up to me, a husband, father, Christian, citizen and leader to make wise choices. I may fail, but I have a standard–and it’s not just any man, it is Jesus Christ. Other than my Savior, there is no perfect person. Politics, religion, education and journalism are riddled with characters who have no other goal than to pad their own lifestyles with ill-gotten gain. My simple role is to just keep my head down, trusting that God is my agent, walking in faith and in the light of His Word, making wise choices and taking the heat from the inevitable criticism that will follow. My family is counting on me.

Aramis cologne, black and white TV, Jobim’s Bossa Nova beat, starched white shirts with black skinny ties and Sinatra’s September of My Years. These are memories of my childhood. My dad would sing along with these songs while they were playing on the stereo in our living room. The wisdom of the lyrics in each masterfully composed and arranged song hit home with me now, especially since I am 50 years old–the same age Sinatra was when he recorded this record back in ’65. To think that I grew up less than an hour away from where these records were made blows my mind. It is usually after the fact that we realize what a golden moment really is. Thankfully, I can carry those moments as memories with me when I listen to this record.

I am grateful for music downloading technology as it allows me to easily find and collect re-mastered, re-released albums from my childhood. If there was ever an artist that made an impression on me it was Sinatra. My dad still is a fanatic. As I surfed Amazon Mp3 today, I rediscovered this jewel. I recommend it to any songwriter and singer out there as essential listening.

Whenever I hear this record, it takes me back to summer evenings in Fullerton as the open sliding glass door allowed cool breezes to blow in from the back yard–the sound of fireworks from Disneyland popping in the sky. Those were very good years.