At 12 years old I was in a constant struggle with discipline and how things were supposed to be. I didn’t feel good inside. Everyone said I was bright, but school always meant problems. Poor grades, taking forever to learn, bad attitude, and mouthing off to teachers and coaches. I couldn’t care less. I would lie and cheat if I could get away with it. At home my mother railed me over my inattentiveness/laziness and all the signs of today’s “learning disabilities.” I fantasized about cars and Africa. I wanted to be on the flip side of here. No one seemed to understand. More than anything I loved listening to rock and roll music.

I found a guide for all my questions, frustrations, and urges to turn everything inside out and upside down. His name was Frank Zappa. His band, the Mothers of Invention. I listened to a record borrowed (or lifted) from a friend’s older brother called Freak Out. Nothing like I’d heard before. It spoke to my very soul. Dark, loud, and forbidding. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

Life on the home front, however, was grim indeed. My mother died suddenly one night. Little explanation as to why or what happened. My father was a good, sweet man but clueless when it came to language and feelings. I concluded I would have to get by on my own.

Frank Zappa was someone out there to relate to. Not like the friends and relatives who were acting stranger and stranger. He was an artist/musician who wrote songs about loss, isolation, disappointment, and hypocrisy. Check these titles: “Hungry Freaks Daddy,” “Go Cry on SomeBody Else’s Shoulder,” “Motherly Love,” “Trouble Every Day,” “Help I’m A Rock,” “Plastic People,” “America Drinks and Goes Home,” “Invocation and Ritual Dance of the Young Pumpkin.” Boy, did he have my number.

I learned more about literacy, sociology, sex, and politics through listening to Frank Zappa than from any of the remedial programming or curriculum offerings at the time. He used humor and absurdity. And I could sure use one to deal with the other.

I told him in a letter I liked his music and how ridiculous my family and school were. He wrote back saying I should try to love my family anyway. He thanked me for writing and said he could always use friends wherever they were.

Thank you, Frank.