Dear Editor,
Ah, the sweet sounds of summer; birds singing, leaves rustling, fountains bubbling. How love…
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. What’s that? Surely not nature’s sound. Nature would never be that rude, that insensitive, that LOUD! No, that noise is manmade, and it’s coming from inside a human’s metal box on wheels, and it’s throbbing, reverberating, pounding is actually resonating up through my floors and vibrating the pictures hanging on my walls! Is this an anomaly, something unfamiliar, out of the ordinary, never heard before? No, I’ve experienced it before; in fact many times on a daily basis! Just when I think peace and tranquility are the backdrop of life in bucolic Morgan Hill, it happens again and I wonder who the perpetrator is and reason for his assault on my sensibilities. Is the love of music at the root of his insolence in which the increased volume equals an increased appreciation? I hardly think so, as the extreme thumping sound all but masks any esoteric musical specialty. Could the driver be hearing-deficient and turn the knob on the plus side to enjoy the selection? I must also rule that out as the improbability of so many impaired in one town is not realistic. No, I think there must be another reason.
I believe that all the thumping and pounding and booming and amplifying is meant to say one thing, “notice me! I have no other way to get your attention, so I’ll make noise, a lot of noise; no much noise that you’ll have to notice me. I have nothing else to offer; no good grades, no good job, no sense-of-self, no confidence, no talent, nothing positive in my life. So I’ll go to the store, max out my credit card and buy the loudest speakers accessible, install them in my car (also bought on credit) turn up the bass to the max, roll down my windows and proceed to attack the eardrums of every being within a quarter mile radius. That way, you will have to acknowledge my presence. It doesn’t matter if you think I’m a jerk or give me a disdainful look; I’ve accomplished my goal; you notice me, therefore I am somebody, albeit a pathetic somebody, but a somebody nevertheless. I am actually a living, breathing person who is too big anymore to tug at my mother’s dress, or jump up and down with a whining tone or to hit my little brother in the head or pinch my sister on the arm. I’ve grown up but I still need acknowledgment and this is the only thing I can think of to get it. So unless I grow up and move away you’ll just have to get used to it!
So much for the soothing sounds of summer.
J. Bowman, Morgan Hill
