Rocks

I’ve had a rather peculiar obsession with rocks of many kinds since I was a boy, playing in a rock fort I made with my twin brother. This fort was a place where our imaginations ran absolutely free, with tall skyscraping stacks built above tunnels dug into the dirt, with homes, hotels, and restaurants lining the roads of gravel. The residents were represented by matchbox cars that my brother and I personified, turning them into living beings with jobs and roles in their own little society.

As a child, I grew up with rock. Introduced to me by my parents, I began to love bands like Led Zeppelin and Van Halen at an early age. My love for this kind of music filled my everyday life, and to the annoyance of my classmates, I would play along to music in my head with pencils and the sides of desks during class. My teacher however felt like she discovered something in my fourth grade self that others overlooked, and told me to get a drum kit so I could play my heart out. After days of begging, my mother caved in and got me a cheap kit which I loved. A few months later, my lack of improvement and apparent abandonment compelled my mother to return the kit to where it was found, Goodwill.

I did not give up, however. I was chosen in eighth grade to play the drums for an elective rock band class, and upon sitting back down behind a kit, I excelled. This became a passion shortly thereafter, when my high school music instructor allowed me into the advanced class where I eclipsed my classmates without ever having a lesson. I still play to this day, sometimes on the piano as well, usually with my friends during lunch break.

In the middle of an argument freshman year over who was a better guitarist (David Gilmore or Eddie Van-Halen), a girl introduced me to the band Pink Floyd. I immediately fell in love. This band took me through the decades, back to when my parents were my age, back to a time when the world cared more about the space above them. Back to a time when Rocketmen were exploring the skies. I desperately wanted to be just like them. The first book I ever enjoyed was a massive book on the solar system and its planets; as I read, I wondered what created Mars’ massive scar, and why Neptune was such a deep and beautiful blue. Now, approaching manhood, I am still in love with the sky, and the Pandora’s box that seems to be opened each time something new is discovered. The massive rocks above my head bring me back to the similar, but smaller stones that I find on Earth, on the shores of places I travel, amongst the hazards on golf courses I play, and built into the trails I ride.

Three stones rest on my desk; the weak sandstone I collected in Hawaii reminds me of the fragility of my world, and the possibility of its rapid change from a seemingly small event. The strong granite I used to hold down a tent in Tahoe reminds me of the resilience and strength of my father, whose hard-found path to success inspires me. The beautiful marble I found in Spain reminds me of the world’s incredible elegance, and the amazing places I hope to travel. From the rocky terrains of extra-terrestrial and extraordinary worlds, to the beaches and forests of our home planet, through the music of an era that’s long past and the music I’m currently making, there is a lot of rock in my life; I guess the name Rocco does suit me pretty well.