Summary

The author reflects on lessons of individuality and independence learned through the author's grandfather's playful acts of civil disobedience, which were expressed through his choice of cars and music, influencing the author's own path in life.

Abstract

The author recounts childhood memories of their grandfather, a music teacher in Washington DC during the 1950s, who defied social expectations with his choice of vehicles—a large red Chevelle named "Big Red" and a hatchback Datsun named "Little Red." The grandfather's rebellious spirit, exemplified by his disregard for the norms of his affluent community in Virginia and the elite summer crowd in Maine, instilled in the author a sense of autonomy and the importance of forging one's own identity. This legacy of nonconformity was further reinforced by the punk band Crass's song "Big A, Little A," which encouraged self-determination and personal responsibility. The author carries on the tradition of rebellion in small but meaningful ways, such as playing Spike Jones songs loudly with their children, and finds inspiration in the punk ethos, which is displayed in their home office as a guiding principle for life.

Opinions

The author views their grandfather's behavior as a form of civil disobedience that fostered independence and self-expression.
The grandfather is seen as a true rebel who used humor and nonconformity to challenge societal norms.
The author values the message of the song "Big A, Little A" by Crass for its emphasis on individuality and personal choice.
The author believes in the importance of choosing one's own path in life, despite confusion or surprise from family, friends, and colleagues.
The author cherishes the memories and lessons from their grandfather and applies them in their daily life, teaching the same values to their children.

How a healthy dose of Civil Disobedience helps foster independence

Big Red, Little Red

My Grandfather taught me a lot about proper Civil Disobedience, probably unintentionally.

My Grandfather was a music teacher in Washington DC during the 50s. He was the son of a diplomat and a doting well-off mother, he did not have a hard life. He had 3 daughters, several dogs of indisputable supreme intelligence, and a beautiful wife from a Kentucky Farm; life was good.

When I came on the scene in the 70’s he had two cars that are etched in my memory. A large Chevelle— fire engine red that he would drive his 3 daughters around in, to the chagrin of his entire neighborhood, and causing long drawn out sighs from his patient Southern Belle wife.

Aptly, he named the car “Big Red”.

When I was about 11, he was living in Purcellville, VA on a large plantation style house his inheritance had paid for. He would walk with me into the fields behind his house and show me Big Red. He always called me the All-American boy.

“All-American, someday Big Red will be yours!” he beamed excitedly.

Big Red was more a faded red at this point, had grass growing out of the carburetor and I am fairly certain, a family of raccoons living in the back seat. But I was over the moon with plans to cruise my WASPy neighborhood in the Main Line outside Philly causing scornful disdain from elderly grandmothers and Yuppies in their BMWs.

The second car, in my hazy memory, was some sort of hatchback Datsun with an 8-track player instead of a radio. He would drive this while summering in Maine at the houses his family had built 3 generations hence.

This car he named “Little Red”.

The summer place in Maine is a mixture of NYC Bluebloods and old-money families from DC, it's just south of Blue Hill, Maine on the Penobscot Bay, perfect for Beetle Cat races, Lobster Roasts on the beach, and cocktail parties with people named Miffy and Scotch eating cucumber and dill sandwiches while drinking Manhattans at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

My Grandfather would drive Little Red down to the “Club House” where it would promptly fart out big clouds of black smoke as it trundled along, with loud guffaws from my Grandfather as Miffy and Scotch gave him the stink eye and turned up their noses. I would tag along in the side seat, no seatbelt, while “The Wedding of Jack and Gill” was squeaked out of the 8-Track player by the Gumm Sisters as I laughed and chortled at my grandfather.

He was a true Rebel.

Later when I hit 14 and my sister lent me her Dead Kennedy’s album “Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables”, I started thinking it was my turn to take the lessons from my grandfather and make my own mark. I listened to a radio show out of Drexel University that played at the unfortunate time of 2 am on Tuesdays, it was called the Swimmer’s Ear. It pelted out Hardcore & Punk in equal measure and I was dazzled at the sounds of GBH, Black Flag, The Circle Jerks, and lastly a British punk band called Crass.

While most of the songs were clearly about anger and madness at a cornucopia of societal deceits and malignment toward teenage youth, Crass was upbeat-ish and had a more positive message. Their song “Big A, Little A” struck a chord within me that shaped my outlook. While 2/3rds of the song did express deep disdain for the Queen, Thatcher, failed state promises, and lies — the last 1/3 was very hopeful and made perfect sense.

“Be exactly who you want to be, do what you want to do I am he and she is she but you’re the only you No one else has got your eyes, can see the things you see It’s up to you to change your life and my life’s up to me The problems that you suffer from are problems that you make The shit we have to climb through is the shit we choose to take If you don’t like the life you live, change it now it’s yours Nothing has effects if you don’t recognise the cause”

Big A, Little A — Crass

I feel that this is the Punk Desiderata and it hangs in the wall of my home office as a reminder that we all have a choice to rebel in the way that makes sense to us — and we can choose the way in which we relate.

My grandfather used his junkyard cars to relieve his own stresses and presumptive plans his parents had for his future as a diplomat, doctor, or lawyer — he chose his path with a smirk and a laugh.

I’ve always gone my own path, sometimes to the surprise and confusion of my family and friends; definitely to my co-workers and supervisors who think they know my path. Continuing the tradition that my Grandfather set, I drive around in a beater minivan with my kids playing Spike Jones songs at full blast with the windows rolled down, much to that consternation of my neighbors while my kids and I laugh uncontrollably.

I was working in my garage on a Sunday morning recently, Google Play randomly selecting songs across several playlists when a neighborly friend walked up and said.

“I’ve never heard Ozzy played on a Sunday before, I’m glad it’s you doing it Colin.”

I’ll close with the video for Big A, Little A, my quote comes in around 3:37.

Enjoy.