BLAME IT ON THE YOUTH

Today I came across the old Jazz Standard Blame It On My Youth. Written in the early 1930s and interpreted by a variety of crooner greats from Sinatra over King Cole to outstanding Jamie Cullum, this song keeps inspiring generations. Until we are young all our positive and negative experience might be safe out of our certain immunity called juvenileness, but what happens the day we can’t excuse ourselves that easy anymore? Is it possible to grow up at the end or is adultness a grey and old imagination of pure perfection built by moral, rules and conventions – so called noble moments? Doesn’t everybody stay this small, sensitive but jealous and angry kid somewhere in the corners of one’s mind and isn’t it even this special kind of humanity keeping us away from the remarkable façade of adult integrity? Can we ever leave the idea from adored to bored and be the one taking rational decisions? I think it stays hard to finish blaming somebody or –thing for our decisions as it may be another significance of childhood, trying to push harmful sorrows from oneself. What is an adult? Nothing but a grown up kid – if we are pleased to believe old Walt Disney.

And like the yearly procedure of buying Christmas presents we feel like kids again. Staring into those gorgeous vitrines showing us ever again our unfulfilled dreams we may realize that it might be this concrete issue keeping us aware from adultness – dreams that until now didn’t come true, because we absolutely need in our childish hearts a something we can long for. In some special periods of the year we try to keep our hearts light with troubles far away, just like the days we had someone who felt supposed to do up our shoelaces properly. But can we believe this magic of our sighs?
Where do all those great Peter Pan moments vanish during the rest of the year while we are waiting being young at heart again? No matter how we try to be mature. We will always be a kid when we get hurt – and we will cry, far away from our actual expectations. So where to search when we forget to believe in those moments waiting for us – that place between sleep and awake where dreaming is still remembered? Second star to the right and then straight on till morning.

Cheers

Lorax