On Being Old-School

By Paul Roberts

Carol and I were enjoying the company of our friends Kellee and Rex last Friday night, and, as seems to happen a lot lately, the topic of old age and it’s idiosyncrasies was a part of our conversation. I’ll spare you (and them) some of the personal details. Suffice it to say that I was the only one in the room that night that could claim the distinction of being born in the decade of the 1950’s. It’s not the first time recently that I have found myself imagining how old that must sound to someone born during this century.

But does that make me “old-school?”

old-school adjective \ ˈōl(d)-ˌskül  \

Definition

1: adhering to traditional policies or practices

2: characteristic or evocative of an earlier or original style, manner, or form

A positive appellation referring to when things weren't flashy or empty of substance, were done by hard work, didn't pander to the lowest common denominator, and required real skill. 

Well, if that’s the case, I’ll strive to be old-school. Unapologetically.

Singer Tony Bennett. He’s old-school. Even when he is singing with Lady Gaga. My Bill Russell, Bob Cousy, John Havlicek, Larry Bird era Boston Celtics in their short shorts, that’s old school basketball. A fourteen line, iambic pentameter, specific rhyme scheme sonnet, that’s old school poetry.

Now, I sing a lot. And I’ve done a reasonable amount of that singing in front of a paying audience, singing some pretty old-school tunes. No one is going to mistake me for Tony Bennet, but I like to think that some would say Tony and I are both old-school. 

I can’t remember the last time I played any five on five, full court basketball. I’m pretty sure Carol would shake her head and give me one of those looks if I grabbed my old white Converse high tops, a pair of short shorts, and told her I was headed up to the gym for some hoops. But there was a time when I had game enough that, like Larry Bird, I was asked for my autograph after a winning night on the old hardwood floor. Once. And my style of play? It was pretty old school.

Some of my earliest, positive memories of school revolve around reading and writing poetry. It feels as if I was always aware of the rhythm and rhyme of language. I think one of the reasons for that is the early influence of my mother. The Roberts kids grew up watching and listening to Mom play the piano and the organ at church and in our home. I like to imagine that in a distant time before my childhood memories, Mom’s voice shaped my love of words, and helped me hear the music to be found in human communication.

All of this has just been a vehicle to share some more of my poetry. This old-school sonnet is for my mom. 

Il Sonetto - Little Song

Oh, how can words the story full contain

The fullness you have come to mean to me;

Our years require more than a brief refrain

To grant the world eyes through which I see.

With words - ‘tis how you taught when I was young,

So sweetly sung and spoken, face to face;

I longed to hear the chorus from your tongue,

To sense the peace and joy of your embrace.

And now I long to tell the world of you,

As once, when I your child, you told of me;

Your tale - not done! - a poem brave and true,

A sonnet! Queen of all the poems, you’ll be!

Let all who know of me, know of my mother;

This song, these words, this life, flows from no other. 

For Mom

July 27th, 2020

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The first episode of our Dreams and Bones podcast was published.  Would you like to listen to it, as well as the next three episodes this month?  Click here to subscribe and find out how to download and then listen to our upcoming interview with Joy Persoon over the next few weeks.