Islands in the Stream

Kenny Roger’s was my first music love. Kenny’s voice, the catchy beat, and the profound lyrics. The Gambler was the first song that grabbed me, made me crank up the volume on the silver radio that lived in the kitchen. I was around twelve years old, and lived a fairly solitary life in a ramshackle house situated miles away from what I thought was civilization.

Luckily, the radio had a built-in cassette recorder so I was able to capture The Gambler when it came on the country music station that my mother listened to. I was ready for it. I reached across the plywood counter that was covered in shredded “wood” mac-tac in time to press play and record – at the same time of course – in that sacred second between the DJ speaking and the song starting.

I loved the Gambler. Not just the song, but the character. He was a hero that I felt akin to. Alone in the kitchen and looking out the window into the smudgy black night, I felt like I was on a train to nowhere. The lyrics spoke to me and the thought of a high-stakes match seemed like the most exciting, risky adventure. I wanted to be the gambler. There was no one to bum a cigarette from, but I did fish a nice sized butt out of the ashtray and lit it up. As for the whisky, that would have to wait.

Soon after, there was Coward of the Country, and I had another hero. I was mad about stupid people calling him yellow, and I loved him for the way he loved his Becky. My young heart broke when those men hurt her. I could almost hear the pin drop myself when Tommy turned and locked the door. I think a part of me fought alongside him and gave those bastards what they deserved. I believed that sometimes you had to fight to be a man. Sometimes you had to kick some ass and stand up for what is right. Tommy turned out to be more than everyone thought, and I would too.

My mother loved country music. I grew up listening to Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn, and yes, Kenny Rogers. She loved Islands in the Stream by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. I can still hear her singing it, and dancing around the kitchen. I feel like the death of Kenny Rogers is another connection to my mother – gone. But his songs will live on, as does the memory of my beautiful, country music-loving mother.

Thank you Kenny Rogers for the hope and adventure that you brought to my young life. Thank-you for the memories of a distant kitchen and for making my mother sing and dance. I hope you died in your sleep, Mr. Kenny Rogers. And I hope you knew Jesus