Case,
I went to a Jason Isbell matinee concert the other day while you accompanied your mom to the grocery store. I can tell you as I type this that Isbell is going to be on the short list of artists and bands (along with Thin Lizzy, the Drive-by Truckers -- which begat Mr. Isbell -- Jack White, Gov't Mule, Joe Bonamassa and a couple others I'm likely overlooking or have yet to discover) that you will not be able to completely escape until you get a driver's license, as one of the cool things about being a parent is that I control the stereo. It also helps that I have the greatest musical taste of anyone in the world. Actually, while at some point you may consider the music I listen to "for old people" and mock me in solitude while trying to look cool in front of a mirror as you sing along to a song in an strangely memorable moment that will embarrass you any time you think about it for the rest of your life (No, I'm not speaking from experience, why do you ask? But if you find yourself in such a situation, it's best to lock the door.), you're a Pallister, which means as long as you have ears, you'll likely gravitate toward the good stuff in due time. Even the best aficionados have their regrettable moments, such as the Scritti Politti phase of 1984 and that ill-advised purchase of a Dead-Eye Dick cassette in the early '90s (I probably shouldn't have typed that).
Regardless of your personal journey toward musical enlightenment, I have a feeling, given my obsession with words and their many uses (a gift I cannot thank your Grandma Pallister for enough), that you will be similarly interested in lyrics. Isbell is a great lyricist -- a down-to-Earth musician whose intelligence and blue-collar philosophy make him a master songwriter. This is never more apparent than in his signature song, "Outfit," which he played a great acoustic version of at the aforementioned concert.
I gravitated toward the song, which is about a father's advice to his son, years ago. But now when I hear it, I think not only of my father, your Grandpa Pallister, but you, too. Much of the wisdom in "Outfit" is exactly the type of stuff your Grandpa stood for and made sure I understood at an early age: Don't call what you're wearin' an outfit/Don't ever say your car is broke/Don't sing with a fake British accent/Don't act like your family's a joke.
The song only lasts justs over four minutes, but it's worth a thousand years of wisdom, most notably the idea that you must be true to yourself. There are no great epiphanies in life, just a series of lessons that you must do your best to divine and learn from. And the greatest lesson in "Outfit" comes from the following verse: So don't let 'em take who you are, boy/and don't try to be who you ain't.
To put those 17 words in greater context: Be your own man, forge your own identity and never, ever be a phony. It's much easier in life to follow than to lead, and, if you ask me, it's often easier to lead than to walk your own path. That doesn't necessarily entail being a loner, but sometimes you have to believe in yourself when the world around you does not. The world is not set up for people who aren't afraid to be themselves. On a related note, don't purposely try to be different. Nothing is more common than "individuals" acting unique. Being your own man is not easy. It comes with many pitfalls. But when you arrive at the point of confidence which I mentioned a couple posts back ('Be proud') it'll be one of the more satisfying moments of your life.
Always remember, son, there is only one Case Austin Pallister, so don't let 'em take who you are, boy, and don't try to be who you ain't.
Love,
Dad
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