Harry Forster Chapin
(December 7, 1942 – July 16, 1981) was an American singer-songwriter best known for his folk rock songs including "Taxi", "W*O*L*D", and the No. 1 hit "Cat's in the Cradle". His creations, at one point dubbed 'story songs', were inspired by events either in his own life or by stories he was told while on the road.
This story is a conversion of one of those songs into story format, with some embellishments added by me. Bear in mind that these songs were written in and take place in the 70's and I was only a kid. I have stayed within the plotline of the song so if you are familiar with it and are hoping for more then you will be disappointed. If some of the lines seem oddly worded I suggest looking up the song lyrics. I probably took that line from the song.
This is a quick one.
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I WANNA LEARN A LOVE SONG
Full of happy things.
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I stepped off of bus number 7 and began the 3 block walk to the house. I didn't own a car; hell, I could barely afford food most of the time so a car was nothing more than a pipe dream. I didn't have much in the way of an education. My parents moved the summer after sixth grade and never bothered to enroll me in a new school. They were very much into the lifestyle of the sixties and figured I could get a better education from daily life in the real world than I could from any school. That didn't really work out.
So here I am, now 19 years old and living on the streets with no marketable skills and only an old acoustic guitar and a few changes of clothes among my worldly possessions. The clothes I carry around in my backpack; the guitar is slung over my shoulder.
I'm average in height, about 5'9", and decidedly skinnier than I should be. Again, that's more about lack of food than anything else.
When it comes to smarts I'm probably about average there as well. I could probably make something of myself but I don't have much drive. I learned that from my parents as well.
Most days you find me on a street corner playing some tunes and trying to live on whatever donations the kind folks of the world decide to toss my way, and it's usually about enough to survive but nowhere near enough to get me out of the life I live. But a couple of weeks ago this lady stopped by where I was playing and listened for about 30 minutes. She tipped me five dollars and then asked if I could teach her to play guitar. I explained that I could but it would take a long time, and I was surprised when she was agreeable to it and offered to pay me ten dollars each week, plus bus fare, for a 1 hour lesson.
So that brings us to me walking the three blocks over to a very nice house in an upscale subdivision. This is the kind of place that vagrants like me are usually run out of, and the first time I was here someone did call the fuzz on me. I explained why I was there and they took me to Miss Betty's house and she confirmed why I was there. Since then I've not had any problems but I have no doubt people are watching me the whole time and ready to call the police.
Miss Betty's a real nice lady. She's in her early thirties (I didn't ask exactly and she didn't volunteer it) with curly blonde hair and a plump body. She tends to wear loose-fitting housecoats around the house, at least when I'm there, so I can't tell you much more than that.
We'd been doing this now for several weeks, months even, and it was pretty much the same every week. She'd meet me at the door and offer me something to eat or drink. Sometimes I accepted a snack but I didn't want to push her generosity, so usually I just took a glass of water.
Her husband was some sort of property developer; a Concrete Castle King is what we called them on the streets, because they built things and drove us poor folks away to increase their property values. They'd been married for seven years and had two small children.
Miss Betty always had me come over at the same time and on the same day every week, and I eventually realized she was trying to keep herself busy while her husband played cards and drank with his friends in their den, and while the children were having their weekly visit with one of the sets of grandparents.
The first time I went I asked her what she wanted to learn so I could teach her what she wanted to know. I still remember her answer even to this day.
"I wanna learn a love song," she said. "I wanna learn something full of...happy things. I wanna learn to play the guitar so I can hear my beautiful children sing."
I tried to teach her a few simple chords but nothing too complex. She picked those up okay so we tried to learn an easy melody, but I could tell her heart wasn't really in it. I got the sense that she was a very lonely woman and was willing to pay for my company more than anything else.
We spent a lot of time just talking. She always asked me about my life, both when I was little and now that I'm on the streets. I had a whole backlog of hobo stories and I regaled her with one after the other. We talked about the dreams we each had when we were younger, and she tried to get me to keep chasing mine. I promised I would but they were empty promises. I knew I'd never be anything in life and didn't figure there was much cause for trying.
She told me about her life as well. She loved her husband but he spent most of his time with his business associates. She was left to raise the children and he was the breadwinner. This was not an uncommon attitude in this day and age. She was lonely most of the time and when she mentioned to her husband he brushed her off, explaining that his job was to provide for the family, not to take care of the children and certainly not to keep a grown woman company. He was doing his part and expected her to do hers.
Some days we didn't do anything but talk while I strummed my guitar, but most of the time she just wanted to listen to me play my guitar. I was always scared to be too loud, what with her husband right in the next room. I got the feeling he was a very dominant man, maybe even abusive, and I didn't want to be the one that set him off.
