The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid

I’ve just returned on a trip back from 1950’s era America. No, I’m not hallucinating; I just finished reading Bill Bryson’s The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. Bryson paints a portrait of America much the same way Norman Rockwell did; without rose colored glasses, but still wholesome in a way that can never again be achieved. This country is too far gone for that. This world is for that matter. Still, please don’t take this as cynicism. I am far too optimistic for that. After all, I am a teacher. What enraptured me about this title was not necessarily the picture perfect detail or the irreverent wit, but it was the connection it gave me to the past. This book built a bridge between my generation and that of my father’s. Movie depictions never seem to quite do the age justice. They’re so Hollywood; so overcooked. What made the Thunderbolt Kid different is the perspective from which Bryson reflects. It is a contemporary look at what we’ve lost. It is something to be yearned for: a time when the crime rate was lower, when the divorce rate was lower, when people respected each other. Maybe I’m a dreamer, but it seems like at some point we slipped away from ourselves. I’m not saying that we should forget the advances we’ve made, but it would be nice to live at least one day in a simpler time. That’s what this book did for me.

I constantly find myself completely enamored and fascinated by history. I become nostalgic for times I’ve never even known. I guess history and I – we go way back. Pun intended. I look at the calendar and realize that it is 2008 and that I’m twenty-four years old. I’ll be twenty-five in a year. A quarter of a century. Doesn’t that make you feel old? With all of the constant moving around I’ve done in my lifetime, I tend to remember events, people, and places through associating them with music. This started when I was still in elementary school. I remember waiting up and listening to X-Cell 106.7’s hot nine at nine in 6th grade (98 Degrees, Invisible Man). Hanson’s MMMM Bop was on MTV. Alanis Morrisette released Jagged Little Pill and I owned a CD that dropped the F-Bomb. I can go on and on, and that was just 6th grade. As my musical tastes expanded and my knowledge of this thing called music became carnal, I was slowly growing up. Everything I have experienced can be put to song. It could be said that my life has a built-in soundtrack. My first real dance with a girl: I Swear, BoysIIMen. Trying to be cool on a church retreat: Korn, Life is Peachy. Driving with my best friend in high school, windows down, music blaring: Smashing Pumpkins, Siamese Dream. Not getting accepted into the BFA Theatre program at Florida State: R.E.M., Everybody Hurts. (Yeah, I know) Marrying the love of my life: Bright Eyes, First Day of My Life. Finishing my last day at Aucilla, Matchbox 20, How Far We’ve Come. I could do this forever. I could write a book. Maybe someday I can capture the essence of my childhood like Bill Bryson captured his.