This was an assignment for an English class a long time ago. That's why it is presented in both prose and poem.
The year was 1955 and I was in the sixth grade. We lived in the desert, in a town with no social life. Television didn't exist, and it was a one mile walk to a movie theater. The only cultural input was a classical music program once a week on the radio, and the teacher always let the class listen to it.
One day a professional violinist came to town to do a concert. I didn't hear about him until he showed up at the school to play for us kids. I was thrilled because I had never heard a live person play a violin. It was darn seldom that I heard or saw anything good at all. I loved it. He announced that if we wanted to go to his big concert there was a special price for students, one dollar and eighty cents.
I was electrified. I could go to a real concert and listen to a real musician playing real music. I had only heard about such things. All I had to do was find $1.80, not easy when my only source of income was collecting pop bottles for the two cent deposit. When I got home from school I went crazy. Home at three, concert at seven, four hours to pull off a miracle, and two of them had to be spent getting dressed and getting to the auditorium. There was only one auditorium. I hopped on my bicycle and rode frantically out of town, watching for pop bottles. I rode for about an hour, then rode back. You better believe I didn't miss a single bottle along that highway. I cashed in my find and counted it: $1.15 (quart size beer bottles were worth a nickel). I counted it again, hoping for better results: still only $1.15. I needed sixty five cents more. It occurred to me that maybe I should have ridden just a little farther out that highway, but I rejected that thought: I knew I had done all that was humanly possible, and now I was out of time. There was only one thing left I could do: beg. That is what I did. Of course I was smart enough to say "borrow". One brother had the money, and didn't mind giving it to me. It surprised me that he had the money, and even more that he would hand it over with no explanation, but I was in too much of a hurry to ponder those things.
With the money problem whipped, I turned my efforts to getting ready in the short time left. I showered and dressed and started looking for a ride. Dad was gone. Mom didn't drive. Three brothers were home, and two had cars. I asked the first to drive me to town. "Why?" he demanded. That was pretty normal for him. I told him. He refused. He didn't like that stuff and he didn't think I had any business going. That was pretty normal for him too. I knew there was no changeing his mind, and I didn't have time to try. I ran to find my other brother. He was nicer, but the answer was the same: "No. You wouldn't like it!"
It took me forty years to try again to get something that took a lot of effort.
Sweet are the sounds of the concert hall, I've heard them on radio. And I've heard of ballet, in big theaters, where people pay to go. I've heard of paintings and statues, and people so nicely dressed, Who stand and stare at the skill so rare, the best admiring the best.
I wanted to join the human race. Silly me, I was just a kid. I thought I could join by buying a ticket: that's what everybody else did! Of course I didn't have the price, but I thought I knew where to get it. It was a gamble that took some work and I was willing to bet it.
I didn't know that becoming a human took some help from others. But I found out the very first time I asked for help from my brothers. How can a kid learn self respect except someone should give it? How can a young man find a life if nobody lets him live it?
Well, now I've finally learned some tricks (tho' my hair is grey and my ears itch), That I can use to get a life; I've even been mistaken for rich! I've found that I can get what I want, whatever I put in my mind. I've learned how to plan, to save, and to work; But I'm forty years behind!
