Dear Willie Nelson,
At the risk of sounding like Judy Garland at the beginning of her song to Mr. Gable—I am writing this to you. And I hope that you will read it so you’ll know . . . but that’s where the similarity ends. You didn’t make me love you or anything, though that would be far more romantic! I hope that you will read it so you’ll know that I spent almost my entire childhood convinced that you were a friend of our family’s!
You may wonder how this could happen. Well I blame my parents, of course! While other kids my age had parents who considered holiday music to be Handel’s Messiah or the current pop sensation’s (in my case this would have been the Carpenters’ or Carly Simon’s) Christmas album of ancient songs with a “new” twist. Our Christmas music was almost entirely comprised of your record albums. Can you imagine thinking that “Red Headed Stranger” was a holiday album? Well I did! Don’t get me wrong. They played their share of Mahalia Jackson in the days following Thanksgiving and on up to New Years peppered with typical Christmas music and Linda Ronstadt (I haven’t quite figured that one out yet.) But mostly it was Willie. In fact I didn’t even know you had a last name until I was about ten years old. And so every milestone of life that I can recall is time-stamped with one or more of your works, from Stardust to the Highway Men.
I’ll never forget the evening a babysitter came to watch my sisters and me when I found out where my parents were headed: to Reno—to see Willie. I asked if I could go.
“You have to be 21,” they said.
I was eight and totally confused. I actually thought about calling you myself!
Or how about the time my dad suggested I get a guitar and learn how to sing so I could call myself Nelly Wilson?
“Willie would be proud,” he said!
I totally believed him J I am pretty sure he even bought me a kids’ starter guitar at a garage sale that I have yet to learn to play (or find): Though I can carry a tune in a bucket—lots of tunes if the bucket is big enough!
Like most people, my childhood wasn’t perfect. After my parents divorced, I harbored a lot of fear about the future and the world in general. But you wouldn’t believe how just a few measures of hearing your guitar play would give me a sense of comfort and hope during the turbulent years. It didn’t even matter if the song’s subject matter was about heartbreak and lost hope! I’m not going to pretend that as a teenager, I rocked out to Willie cassette tapes with my friends! They’re still shaking their heads over my obsession with Neil Diamond! Your music just had a magical way of transporting me back to a simpler chapter in my life—an era that the strains of your guitar and vocal melodies and harmonies subtly insisted would become an anchor for me.
Now that I’m 40 years old, I have learned that real comfort and peace come from a man who claimed to be God about 2000 years ago. You called him “The Troublemaker,” which really confused me because in all the stories I had heard about Jesus, he was a good boy! But in fact he did cause trouble. He said it Himself, “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword!”
Upon learning that you were a famous musician sometime in the first decade of my life (I wasn’t known for my astute sense of observation back then), I’m sure I didn’t take it quite as hard as the news about Santa Claus. But since, I’ve come to appreciate that I may not be the only lost child to have mistaken reality from fiction. I’ll tell you this much—I wouldn’t change it for anything! I still love to hear your songs. I love to watch my teenage boys listen to your music with renewed appreciation. I’m proud of our oldest who is working on a music performance degree (though I doubt he’ll use any variation of your name as a stage moniker). I know my help, hope, and anchor come from the Maker of Heaven and earth! (I just didn’t want you to feel responsible anymore.) And now that I’m old enough, maybe I can catch one of your shows in the near future J
Sincerely,
Christyanna Banana (Conn) Arnold
