A Rockin' and a Rollin'

I’ve been thinking about Van Halen recently. A father and son came into my store the other day because they heard that quartet had come out with a new book. I did my best to hunt down what they were looking for, but wanted to inform them that Van Halen had stopped being cool about twenty years ago. Sadly, they had not produced any literature in recent months. Father and son didn’t seem to mind much so all was okay.

Conversations of this nature happen daily. Misguided customers are a regular occurrence, but these two reminded me of a moment in my childhood. It was 1984 and I had saved enough money to purchase the new Van Halen album titled . . .”1984.” I was eight years old at the time which meant I had no way of transporting myself to the record store without the help of someone at least sixteen years old and in possession of a driver’s license and a car. This usually meant my mother, but on rare occasions . . . very rare occasions, it also meant my father.

My mother was twenty-one when I was born. She “grew up” on the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles. She spoke often of Tom Petty, Steve Miller, Janis Joplin. Bruce Springsteen was usually blaring when I came home from school. Needless to say, my mother had great taste in music and I recognized this at an early age. So how did it happen that my father was driving me to buy the latest Van Halen album? I never complimented my mother on her choice in music, it didn’t seem right, but shouldn’t she be taking me? Did she not like Van Halen? Maybe not, but she loved me, right?

No, I'm pretty sure this one could be chalked up to a guilt trip. Looking back, I can clearly see my mother accusing my father of not spending time with his eldest son. “Jack, take your son to buy his tape, bond with him,” she would have said. Normally, this accusation would not have fazed my dad, but on this day it did. Maybe we’ll never know why, but it happened. Next thing I know, I was on my way to the record store with . . .my father. The guy who listened to Grand Funk Railroad and thought “Reelin’ in the Years” was Steely Dan’s best song.

This is where the story gets even more interesting. (Go ahead and admit you’re interested) Upon arriving at Tower Records, a young punk sporting a Mohawk informed me that they were sold out of the new Van Halen album. I remember being disappointed, who wouldn’t be, but determined to hold onto my money until stock arrived. I told my dad the situation and said that we could go home. “Get something else,” he told me. “I’m waiting for 1984,” I replied annoyingly, “Ed Scapinok has it and it is AWESOME.” I wasn’t going to compromise.

My dad walked over to the section containing previous releases from Van Halen and suggested I choose another album. I once again insisted that I was saving my money for “1984”. “No,” my father said, “I’ll buy it for you.” Now, Jack Eseltine didn’t utter those five words often. I remember feeling as if I was being tested. What was this guy up to? I was racking my brain, asking myself, “What am I supposed to say here?” Maybe it wasn’t a test. I had heard about alien abductions on TV, but never thought it could happen so close to home. My father was never known to offer much, but here he was.

I reluctantly chose “Women and Children First,” a collection of lesser quality, but the price was right so I didn’t complain. Maybe my dad wouldn’t have accompanied me that day unless my mom forced the issue, but he came along. He made the effort and even at eight years old, I knew that was important. I wonder if that father and son, bonding over rock and roll, enjoy Van Halen as much as I did listening to it in the truck and the way home that day.

For the record: My mom started liking Van Halen about the time I disregarded them; With the departure of David Lee Roth and the introduction of Sammy Hagar.