How to Play the Harmonica: and Other Life Lessons, by Sam Barry; Foreword by Dave Barry by Sam Barry

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The other morning I was walking down 14th Avenue on my way to work when I passed a boy going the opposite way, uphill to Hoover Middle School. (It’s odd that we have a school called Hoover in San Francisco, the most Democratic of cities.) The boy was small for his age and had a dreamy look on his face. He veered to the side to avoid me, even though there was no likelihood of a collision. Clearly this was no street tough.

Across the street I heard a girl asking her friends derisively, “Why is he stopping?” I turned around and saw that the boy had indeed stopped, and although he wasn’t looking at the group of girls across the street it was obvious that his progress was somehow connected to theirs. Maybe he wanted them to get to the school before he did so he didn’t have to deal with their mockery; maybe he was interested in them, even though the girls were all practically twice his height, as is often true at this awkward age; maybe he was just in his own dream world. Whatever the cause, my heart went out to that boy; it was pretty clear that he wasn’t quite sure where he belonged in Middle School World. My guess is he felt alone; left out.

Last night I was part of a musical team backing up the one and only Ben Fong-Torres at an event where he was being interviewed about his extraordinary life. The event was held at a lovely upscale retirement community in Marin County, and the audience was a mix of retirees and outsiders interested in Ben. After the event Ben was asked to call out the numbers for a lottery with prizes. He announced the first few numbers, but no one responded. Backstage one wag among us musicians quipped, after the third number evoked no response, “They can’t claim the prize because they’ve expired.” We laughed because it was funny, but also because expiring is a major concern for us all. Dying is the ultimate moment of aloneness, of feeling left out, because no one can do this for us or with us.

You’ve got to walk that lonesome valley

You’ve got to walk it by yourself

Ain’t nobody here can walk it for you

You’ve got to walk it by yourself

It’s good to reach out to those among us who are left out—the elderly, prisoners, the sick, outcasts, misfits. We know the drill; we just don’t think we have time to attend to it for fear that we ourselves will slip into one of these groups. I think I had better attend to it while I can.