36 years ago, the rock music of Cheap Trick intertwined with my soul, and
believe it or not, more recently helped heal my emotional childhood wounds.
As a 6-foot-tall, awkward, female adolescent with 2-inch-high self-esteem, Trick’s teenage anthem "Surrender" reflected the internal angst we all face about giving our power away. But it was the intoxicating bass riffs of songs like "Ballad of T.V. Violence" that instilled a sense of fearlessness in my self-deprecating pubescent mind. The intense vibrations of the drum and bass guitar actually calcified my spine, and generated the strength to face any challenge.
As a 6-foot-tall, awkward, female adolescent with 2-inch-high self-esteem, Trick’s teenage anthem "Surrender" reflected the internal angst we all face about giving our power away. But it was the intoxicating bass riffs of songs like "Ballad of T.V. Violence" that instilled a sense of fearlessness in my self-deprecating pubescent mind. The intense vibrations of the drum and bass guitar actually calcified my spine, and generated the strength to face any challenge.
When
mom launched a torpedo that dad was dying of pancreatic cancer, Cheap
Trick’s sonic force field helped shield my heart as I helplessly watched
my father wither away. He never discussed his illness or impending
death, nor did I ever possess enough courage to look into his
pain-filled eyes and utter, “I love you, and will miss you daddy.” He
died without either of us saying good-bye, and for nearly three
decades, I remained totally unaware how our lack of communication left
my psyche hanging, begging for completion.
Over
the years, a compulsion to see Cheap Trick in concert grew more acute.
However, whenever any band member made eye contact from the stage,
strange feelings shot out of me like a howitzer canon and I’d instantly
avert my gaze. Though numerous fans have met the band, a bizarre fear
they’d never want to meet or talk to me kept rock girl at a distance, so
asking for an autograph was unthinkable.
Several years ago, the band themselves illuminated the source of these atypical
feelings. They released a single entitled “Perfect Stranger,” and surges
of anxiety and guilt swelled whenever I heard the song. For months I
wondered, “Why does this tune impact me so profoundly?” The answer came
in an intuitive flash: Dad and I were “perfect strangers.” The lyrics
mirrored aspects of our relationship, and like a humongous backhoe, dug
up painful feelings locked within my subconscious mind surrounding my father's
death.
Finally,
my uncomfortable feelings around Cheap Trick made perfect sense.
“Perfect Stranger” let me see how I transferred unresolved psychological
issues with dad onto the band. I couldn’t look him in the eye and share
my feelings, nor could I look the band in the eye or request an
autograph because in the recesses of my brain, they symbolically
represented my emotionally distant father.
It
was time for my psyche to become whole again. With the help of a good
therapist, I made amends with the soul of my father, and told him all
the things I wanted to say, but never did. Cheap Trick’s
music sheltered my heart when it most needed protection, and years later,
helped bring my teenage trauma to light. Who’d ever think a fan could
gain a sense of resolution, forgiveness and healing from a rock band and
their music? Strange but true. I’m a believer. How ‘bout you?
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