I’ve told parts of this story before, but now that it’s come to an end, this is probably the last time I’ll tell it. It starts back in 1995, when I was 14 and still living at my biological father’s house. His name was Chris and that’s how I refer to him. I’m half-adopted now (my mom remarried and that’s how I got my new dad) and it was a significant upgrade but this isn’t that story. I’ve told that one before and maybe I’ll tell it again.

So, there we were back in 1995. I don’t remember exactly when, but sometime at the end of the summer or early fall, Chris’ first ex-wife was attempting to collect years-old child support and got a lien on Chris’ assets which resulted in his car getting impounded. He didn’t have the financial means to get his car out of impound or pay any other expenses that surrounded this event (don’t ask me for particulars, I was 14) so I loaned him $500 out of my savings to resolve his situation. It might not seem like a lot of money now but at the time I didn’t have a lot of income prospects beyond under the table work for $4 or $5 an hour and birthday checks from my grandmothers, so it was a decent chunk of my bank account.

Not long after that, the ladies at our church heard what had happened and I think they got a little worried that perhaps he wouldn’t pay me back or that maybe we wouldn’t have a great holiday season because of these financial issues. They pooled together some money and offered to take me out to Hudson after school one day to buy some holiday gifts for myself, my family, whomever I chose. The ladies were always nice to us and the whole thing seemed like a decent arrangement to me, plus at the time I also wasn’t sure I’d get my money back so I agreed. Mrs. Clapp picked me up after school one afternoon in December, and off we went in her K-car to the shopping plazas. I don’t remember all of the things I bought but I do remember there was one CD in particular I really wanted to get, and did get, by this band called 311. I had heard one of their songs on the radio and it wasn’t like anything else I had heard before, so I wanted to hear more. When I got home that night and put it on in my room, it wasn’t just that one song, the whole album was like nothing I had heard before. For those of you not born in the last century, you used to have to buy the album to hear it. This was long before the days of streaming so you spent your $15 and hoped for the best!

Instantly, I was a 311 fan. Their music doesn’t really fit a genre but the closest I can say is it’s rock with a mix of hip hop and reggae and a little funk. The thing that really struck me though was the message of positivity that is woven into much of their music. Oh, and psychedelics. As a child of the “just say no” generation with a CD collection full of depressing grunge albums, I was hearing all kinds of things I hadn’t really heard before. This was a group of adults who made a living telling people it’s okay to be happy, to look on the bright side, and occasionally take yourself a little higher. I couldn’t stop listening to their music. I bought both of their earlier CDs as soon as I found them in the store, picked up various bootlegs of their concerts when I could find them a swap meets, and my 311 t-shirt went through so many wash cycles you could barely read the logo anymore.

That concludes part one of the story. In between part one and part two, I took a bit of a detour, spent a good part of my 20’s and 30’s trying really hard to fit in and be “normal,” drinking too much, partying too much, and listening to music my friends listened to, but after a while I got tired of that and got back on the path to doing what I wanted, listening to what I wanted, being who I wanted to be, and generally taking pleasure in sticking it to “the man.”

The second part of the story picks up in 2023, when I was at a networking event at my job. We were doing an icebreaker question to start the event and my boss’ question was, if you could meet and have lunch with anyone, dead or alive, who would you choose? When it was my turn, you might guess I chose Nick Hexum from 311, and I told part one of the story I just told you here, adding that I’d be happy to have lunch with any of the guys, I just chose Nick because he is the front man, and the reason I chose him (them) is because I would just like the opportunity to say thank you. Thank you for the positivity, for showing me that you can be whoever you want to be, for being the first ones to say there’s more to life than just saying no, and for all of the great music, which has largely been the soundtrack to my adult life (even when I might have pretended it wasn’t to be “cool”).

The third part of this story starts a couple of months ago, back in the spring when I got an email from 311 (of course I am on their mailing list) announcing their upcoming summer tour, including a date in New York City, one of my favorite places. I put an alarm on my phone for the time tickets went on sale and when the time came, I couldn’t resist clicking into the VIP meet and greet packages to see what you get and what they cost. I had thought about it before but always thought it would be too expensive, not a practical thing to do with my money, whatever. But this time I went for it and clicked anyway. What you get, a meeting with the band and a backstage production tour. I decided to go for it. Can you really put a price on achieving a dream? It turns out you can, and I felt it was fair. I bought the tickets, picked up extra shifts at my part-time job to pay for them, and on June 28 we dropped the dogs at their hotel (the local Humane Society has boarding and they love it) for the weekend and hopped a train to Manhattan.

The next day was the big day, and I couldn’t believe it was finally here. I was going to meet 311 after 30 years of being a fan. We checked into the venue, got our VIP lanyards and wristbands, went on the production tour, and then after what seemed like forever, we got in line to meet the guys. When our turn came, Tim was the first one we met, and he extended his hand, which I did shake, but as I was doing it I said, “Sorry but I want a hug not a handshake. I’ve waited 30 years to meet you so I’m hugging every one of you.” And I did. I went down the line and hugged all five of them. They were gracious and friendly, as I expected they would be. Before it was time for the photo I turned and faced all of them and while I don’t remember exactly what I said to them, it was something like this:

“I’ve been a fan of yours since I first heard ‘Don’t Stay Home’ on the radio in 1995 and I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for all of the love and positivity and great music over the past 30 years. There was a lot of negativity going around in the ’90s and I love that you were always different and it made a big impression on me back then.”

And that was it. We got our picture, headed up to the rooftop for an outstanding concert (as always, it’s not the first time I’ve seen them) with fabulous views of the city, and now it’s all history.

I have a 311 logo tattoo on the inside of my elbow and I realized afterwards that I touched 311 with my 311. I’ve told a few people and no one else thinks that is as cool as I do. Not that it matters. I met 311, I said what I had to say, and I finally got to thank them for everything. If I hadn’t picked up that CD, maybe I would have never been interested in cannabis, and if I hadn’t been sneaking out to meet a friend who had some, I might never have bumped into Clint, and if we hadn’t met, well, I honestly have no idea.

And that’s the end of a 30-year-old story. I didn’t know how it would end when it started, but it turned out about as well as I could have expected.