Got a Black Magic Marker

I went to high school with a cheerleader who actually thought that these were the words to the classic Santana tune. As if Carlos Santana would actually sing about office supplies.

I have a talent for deciphering lyrics. All I have to do is sing along mindlessly to a song and they eventually occur to me. (My college roommate and I spent an entire finals week trying to figure out the breathy slurrings of Rickie Lee Jones' "Skeletons." We just had to keep singing it.)

I discovered this rare talent, and the fact that I can read and add things written upside down, in college, majoring in English Literature. I was studying Chaucer and reading the Canterbury Tales in, of all things, Middle English. The written words may as well have been gibberish. Alphabet soup. Scrabble. Anything but actual English. And it didn't help that it was centuries before we developed a hang up about consistent spelling or sentence structure.

But I found that if I sounded out each word phonetically and read the passages out loud, I could listen to what I was reading and actually understand what was written. My roommate didn't have much of an appreciation for the discovery, but I wasn't wild about her ranting in French, either.

So I can figure out lyrics to almost any song - and can remember them for years to come. It is not lost on me that I can still recite the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution thanks to the little jingle the folks at Schoolhouse Rock put together. And who doesn't remember Conjunction Junction What's Your Function? (Putting together words, and phrases and clauses...)

Yet I can't remember what it is my boss asked me to prepare for the budget meeting next week. Perhaps if he'd simply set it to music...

Now I realize that not everyone possesses this rare and utterly useless talent for lyrics. But I am not suggesting that it in any way indicates the strength of one's IQ or vocabulary or anything like that. Some fine, educated folks have failed miserably at this undertaking. It's just one of those things.

I had a friend in college who thought the refrain from Fleetwood Mac's "Second Hand News" was actually "I'm just sittin' here nude, I'm just sittin' here nuuuuuuuddde!"

Odd, but not entirely Salvador Dali.

There was a girl in my freshman dorm who thought Prince (back before he was the Artist Formerly Known As) was singing about a girl who "wore raspberries to bed" not one who wore a raspberry beret. She must have remembered Porcupine Pie.

And I had a roommate in my beach house who thought that when Tina Turner was singing that "All we need is life beyond the Thunder Dome" that she was really trying to convince us that "all we need is Martha Young!"

Who?

This unevenness of skill and ability, for lack of a better way to describe it, is exactly what I think may be the communication breakdown in some families. Some people are just simply not able to hear what you are saying. No matter how many times you say something, or write it, or shout it, or get on your soap box about it, to them, Mick Fleetwood is still sitting in his birthday suit.

So my brother, will never observe what others demonstrate. Will never look around him and attempt to blend. He'll never listen to what you've said, understand its importance to you and make mental notes about boundaries and customs. The countless subtle and overt statements made over and over just ricochet off of his brain and spin off into space where they orbit the Earth never landing anywhere meaningful. He may be trying, he may not be trying, it doesn't make a difference.

And we, unable to comprehend why such simple concepts and instructions can not be absorbed, accuse him of sinister intentions, and continue to rant about the same things over and over. Crazy idea to think that we'd keep putting the same ingredients in the pan and expect a different cake to come out.

So who is wrong here? I maintain that my brother should be held accountable for his conduct, and that of his children, (his wife is another issue altogether) and should comply with conventions of propriety and manners. Tow the line. Play by the rules. Just like everyone is expected to drive on the right. He should too. However, expecting him to understand why he must do so is probably a fool's errand.

He simply can not really hear us. His understanding is limited and finite.

And like him, the cheerleader from my alma mater will always think Carlos Santana has a Sharpie trying to make a devil out of him.