a good friend of mine recommended a great movie to me tonight. it was called Blinded By The Light and it was based on the true story of a Pakistani boy living in England and chasing his dreams of being a writer after a friend of his introduced him to Bruce Springsteen music. the movie had me in tears throughout but it also had me laughing and I was also very inspired. such a great touching film in such troubling times. I am so grateful that my buddy Morris recommended it as I believe art can really help during these tough times. and when I say ART I mean films, music, books, paintings, or any other version of art that can make you feel or challenge your views and/or wake you up. I’m not talking about meaningless garbage that does nothing but numb us.
Back to the film. Blinded By The Light nailed me in so many ways as does the music of Springsteen. his lyrics have always resonated with me and I love his storytelling at concerts too. Before certain songs he tells great and powerfully emotional stories that always hit home. But with Springsteen comes both pleasure and pain. when I listen to his music I am always reminded of the hot summer day in 1985 when I was molested by an older man while hitchhiking home after lining up all night to get Springsteen tickets for his upcoming Born in the USA tour. I lined up with friends at Markville Mall and we drank all night and listened to music all night and sang songs all night. It was a fantastic summer evening of fun with friends and a very successful one too as we scored floor seats for Bruce. I’m not sure how I lost my friends but I ended up on HWY 7 hitchhiking back home as I had to rush off to summer school at Thornlea. I held my right hand out and after several cars drove by one old grey car pulled over and I hopped in. He was an older Greek man and he asked where I was going and I told him, “Village Parkway and Carlton.” we drove west on HWY 7 and then turned right onto Village Parkway. he seemed fine. he didn’t talk much. we drove on Village Parkway and then we approached Carlton Road. There was a stop sign there and I told him that I would get out at the stop sign. But when we stopped and I was ready to get out he locked the doors and kept going. I asked him to let me out and he said that we were just going to go for a little ride. “no worries. just a little drive,” he said. I sat still and sat scared. I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do. we drove along Village Parkway and then turned left on 16 Ave. then we turned right onto Warden and we drove north through Cachet Parkway area. back then there weren’t too many houses and there wasn’t much traffic going north on Warden. as we drove this man then started touching my leg and looking at my crotch area. he kept touching my leg and then started touching my crotch area. I had grey Ocean Pacific shorts on as he kept rubbing that area my penis grew larger and larger. I was still stuck. still frozen. he kept rubbing and kept saying, “nice. very nice.” he then pulled my penis out of my shorts and started stroking it. he stroked and stroked as I sat silent and still. he kept saying, “very nice. nice big penis. so nice.” I said nothing. after a few minutes I blew my load and he started yelling at me. “WHY YOU GO SO FAST??? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??? WHY SO FAST???” I said, “sorry. i’m sorry.” I then put my penis back in my shorts and he turned his car around and started driving me back to my home. the ride back home was about ten minutes and not a word was spoken. I was filled with fear, guilt, and shame. I was also confused. I still had my Bruce Springsteen tickets. we drove back to Village Parkway and Carlton and he dropped me off. I said, “thanks” and then hopped out of the old man’s car. I don’t know why I thanked him but I did. I walked into my house and nobody was home. I ended up not going to summer school that day.
a few months later my buddies and I went to the Springsteen concert at Exhibition Stadium. we drank at my house first and then took cabs to the subway and then took the subway to Bathurst Station and then from Bathurst Station we would take a streetcar right into the Exhibition grounds. While on the subway I passed out and ended up at Kipling station. I woke up confused but then soon realized I missed the stop at Bathurst. I assume that my buddies were too drunk and didn’t notice. They had the tickets and we didn’t have cellphones back then. I still ended up going back to Bathurst Station and then taking a streetcar to the stadium. Once I got there I still didn’t have a ticket but somehow someway I miraculously knew my exact seat number and told the usher at the front doors and he let me in and followed me to my seat. By them my buddies had sold my seat but the usher let me stay anyway and the concert was fantastic. One of the best shows that I have ever seen.
However, the whole event brings mixed emotions. I love Springsteen. I love his music. I love his stories. I get hit hard with emotions when I listen and his words really resonate with me. But I also get hit with different emotions. I get hit with a sense of “why?” or I get with a sense of “why did I allow this man to do that to me.” such mixed emotions all the way around. I can never listen to Springsteen without thinking about that event that may or may not have affected my life. I still LOVE Springsteen and his music is powerful for me and to me. mixed. mixed emotions. mixed feelings. confusion. love. sadness. an essence of being lost and an essence of being young. lost youth and lost memories. confusion. confusion. confusion. love. love. love. torn. torn. torn.
I also wonder what happened to that man?
why didn’t I ever tell authorities?
BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN.
BORN IN THE USA.
SUMMER. 1984. OR MAYBE IT WAS 1985?
notanotherphony. 