Zen music moment- Take me home Country Road

In the Fall of 1974, I had just finished a football season and nearly the first semester of my freshman year at Sterling College. The season was an awakening for we freshmen,, changing from the high school first teamers to the college new guys.
It was time both hard of the ego and hard on us both physically and mentally.
Everybody hit hard there. Everyone had been the high school star. We soddenly became just one of the team instead of the Go-To guy.
There were a few freshmen from Oklahoma on that team, including myself, another big D lineman b]named Sammy Hankins and a defensive back named Steve Childress.
Sammy was clumsy, big, goofy and seemed to be doing OK with the transition. I had my moments of despair and loneliness. I was homesick, beaten and bruised, and unsure. I went from a Valedictorian at a small high school to kid kind of lost in my college classes. Never had to really study hard before. never was without a starting position on a football team before since 9ht grade football.
Steve was a lot like me in that respect. He came from the small town of Okemah. I'm sure that Steve, a pretty good athlete, handsome with shoulder length hair and a great smile, must have been the pride of the Okemah football team. He struggled a little with the authority in Sterling football, but that was probably because his world was a little shaken, like mine.
But even with those Tom Cruise looks and long straight hair that gave him sort of a gladiator appearance, he was as home sick as was I.

At Thanksgiving break, Steve and I, along with a freshman basketball player from central Oklahoma, loaded into Bessie the wonder car and began a drive home for the holiday. WE drove about 5 hours to Kenny's house in another small own before heading east towards Okemah. It was dark. The road was long and lonely. The only thing we had was the shifting raido stations as we crossed the central Oklahoma plains.
As we drove closer to Okemah, passing familiar sights for Steve, the anticipation of getting home grew worse. It did for me too. I had added about 4 extra hours on to my trip by giving these two guys a ride... but that was OK. They were buddies.
In the darkness of that November night, through the crackling speakers in my '70 Ford maverick, John Denver sang "Country Road" for us.
Being a college football player required a facade of toughness and cockiness. And, when things are difficult and your heart is weak, it becomes a battle to avoid showing weakness or pain. In fact, smart ass remarks and aggressive behaviors replace that and protect you from revealing the true feelings.
AS the words to the songs filled the car, Steve, unable to hold back the pent up emotion, frustration and homesickness burst into tears. His body shuddered with the release.

"I hear her voice in the morning hour she calls me
The radio reminds me of my home far away
and driving down this road I get the feeling
that I should have been home yesterday, yesterday...."

sat awkwardly. Unsure what to do, or if my sympathies would violate that toughness we had to present. But, I knew and I understood. I grieved with him.

Steve didn't return for the sophomore year at Sterling. He moved on and like so many others, I thought he might just become a memory of another time.

I completed college and then when applying for teaching and coaching jobs my first year out of college, I put in an application at the small school of Oilton, Oklahoma. I interviewed with the superintendent and waited for his call. When he called me, he offered me the job. He told me that the thing that made his decision was he had spoken to his son in law about the interviews and mentioned my name. The son in law, Steve Childress had told him I was a good guy.
I still think of Steve every time I hear that song. Not the hurting, upset and home sick Steve, because i know we all shared that feeling, whether we spoke of it or not. I still see him standing on the Kansas football field, hands on hips, cocky ass smile on his face, wind blowing his hair as he spit tobacco juice.
That's the Steve I remember.