As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to
appreciate some surprising things. In my twenties, I finally “got” Shakespeare.
How many people, like me, loathed him at first meeting, usually in high school?
I guess there are some things you just have to be old enough to understand. And
some people never do.
By my thirties, I suddenly found I had a
feel for non-fiction reading. In my forties, I developed a taste for
comparative religions and philosophy, then for apologetics. Now, in my fifties,
I suddenly discover that some of the music styles of songsters more celebrated
by my parents’ generation have started to speak to me with very strange
poignancy. Again, I guess sometimes you just have to reach an age.
Lately, I’ve found myself strangely
compelled by the work of Burt Bacharach.