Tommy can hear it

I've always liked The Who, but not so much for the loud guitars, the wild drum rolls or the screams that used to rip holes in my stereo speakers.

It's the songs that tell stories that flow from one song to the next. It's like every part of your childhood, your teenage years, right up to parenting can be felt through the prose.

There's nothing easy about the lyrics. They're not cut perfectly like a Beatles song. Pete Townsend's words often sound like they're jammed together so the long references to England and its grungy streets and neighborhoods can fit in a simple verse.

But they're interesting, unique and a challenge that has me listen for more than catchy hooks or gimmicky sound effects every time I play it. It's one band that never bores me.

Like Dylan once said, to John Lennon: I listen to the words, man.

As a youth, I thought it was cool that The Who named an album after me. I started listening to Tommy before I listened to anything else. I heard lyrics like, "Tommy can you feel me? Can I help to cheer you?" and think they were spoken to me, and me only.

As a teenager, I thought Quadrophenia was written for me. The songs had the tone of rebellion I felt as my mother's illness swarmed us. We yearned for escape from the tension and the feelings of helplessness.

But the songs also had the same sense of lost innocence and the naivete of Tommy, reflecting a certain idealism that children touched by mental illness and self-medication rarely felt: "But I'm one/I am one/And I can see/That this is me/And I will be/You'll all see/I'm the one."

Now, as a parent, I see Tommy again. I saw first it 7 years ago, when I was watching a Tommy production at Metuchen, N.J. High School. It was the best version I've ever seen (granted, I never saw it on Broadway).

I watched my son, Tommy, mesmerized as he watched the whole play, never looking away.

When I think of it, I think of my boy, the one who is away for three days on a fifth-grade camping trip. My boy can hit balls a long way. He can take me down in a wrestling match. He gets straight As in everything, and he's already read more books than I'll ever read. He's way beyond the video-game skills I developed at the Point Pleasant Boardwalk, drawing twice as many points in Galaga every time we play.

He can also see things better than others. He can hear better, too, sometimes too well. When he was young, we had to put our hand over his ears if things got too loud.

My boy gets passionate about things that he shouldn't care about. He crumples into a ball when he hurts, and he hurts mostly when he hurts others, because he certainly doesn't mean it.

He cares about who's president, or who wins the World Series, or if there are people starving in Africa. He's generous with his affection, and shares his emotions and passions.

People say he's me.

I have a friend I see every once in a while who says to me, "How can you like Tommy better than Quadrophenia? Quadrophenia's way better."

Tommy doesn't speak to me, he told me.

I couldn't disagree more.

You Didn't Hear It (1921)

I've got a feeling twenty one
Is going to be a good year.
Especially if you and me
See it in together.

Father:

So you think 21 is going to be a good year.
It could be for me and her,
But you and her-no never!
I had no reason to be over optimistic,
But somehow when you smiled
I could brave bad weather

Mother:

What about the boy?
What about the boy?
What about the boy?
He saw it all!

Mother and Father:

You didn't hear it
You didn't see it.
You won't say nothing to no one
ever in your life.
You never heard it
Oh how absurd it
All seems without any proof.
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it
You never heard it not a word of it.
You won't say nothing to no one
Never tell a soul
What you know is the Truth.