Today someone in my office sent around a youtube video. On a semi-regular basis, such a “jam” gets included with the daily announcements. Today’s was a song by They Might Be Giants, chosen by the sender’s son. (So, I’m guessing off one of their children’s albums.)

I’ve loved They Might Be Giants for a long time. They were my first concert and I actually went to see them several times in my teenage years. Though I owned most of their albums through Severe Tire Damage, I no longer have most of them.

So today, I listened to the new to me “Seven Days of the Week,” and then went on a youtube cruise finding old favorites like “Ana Ng,” “Don’t Lets Start” and “They’ll Need a Crane.” I may have tortured my co-workers just a tiny bit by singing along to these nostalgic airs. Though most likely I wasn’t loud enough to be heard through their headphones.

I still know most of the words, and I still love the music. But I can’t listen to them without thinking of one of my cousins. He took me to that first concert, and we shared the passion for TMBG for a few years, building a tenuous bridge over the distance in our ages and worldviews. And then he accused me of instigating family drama and cut off all contact unless I apologized for something I didn’t do.

I held to truth over family. I knew I was right. I knew I was being falsely accused, a pawn in a larger picture. I felt echoes of being blamed for other things that I hadn’t done, and I haven’t spoken to him since.

I suppose we have a certain stubbornness in common. Must be a family trait.

I no longer feel that burning injustice when I consider that incident in my life. But I don’t really care to apologize either. It is just one of those things in my life that I don’t often consider, until music draws me into reflecting on the past.

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