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 there were always problems in school. 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 where I was. 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. He had a band called the Mothers of Invention. I heard a record borrowed (or lifted) from a friend’s older brother. It was called Freak Out. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard before. It spoke to my very soul. It was dark, loud and forbidding. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

Life on the home front, however, was very grim indeed. My mother died suddenly one night. There was little given to explain 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 by myself.

Frank Zappa was someone out there to relate to. He of course was not a friend or relative, but those people were acting stranger and stranger. He was an artist/musician. He 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 honestly 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 wrote him a letter telling him I liked his music and how ridiculous my family and school were. He wrote me back saying I should try to love my family anyway. He thanked me for writing him and said he could always use friends wherever they were.

Thank you, Frank.