It would be hard to envision my childhood without one particular influential force. He was a musical force; a force I could not withstand; a force to truly be reckoned with. His name was Garth Brooks. I don't particularly recall exactly how I fell so madly in love with Garth, all I know is I was all over it. I was obsessed.
It may have started when I heard his siren song blasting through the speakers of my dad’s ’91 Ford F-150. It may have been any time I turned the radio on in the mid 90’s as he frequented most Country Top 10 countdowns at the time. I’m not certain of the origin of my intoxication, but all I can say is: It was magical; that country whine, those acoustic guitars, and the thunder rolling. He blew my 6 year old mind.
I didn't quite know what I was really hearing, but all I could tell you was that it kicked the shit out of the Disney music I had previously been obsessed with. From then on it was an all out love affair.
I started asking for all of his music. It became a way of life: All Garth, all the time. Birthdays became the form in which I chose to increase my library. For every birthday, it was a given, I got at least one Garth Brooks tape. Not only were said tapes played, but they were played over, and over, and over. When I wasn't listening to Garth Brooks, I was singing Garth Brooks. When I wasn’t singing Garth Brooks, I was repeatedly talking about Garth Brooks. I became a piggy bank of trivial Brooks knowledge, and my bedroom morphed into a Garth Marathon room of sorts.
My behavior began to border on cultish. To show my devotion to my one and only passion I created things in his honor. It started small, but began to slowly escalate. I made a sign on my door. “Gart rooles!” it incorrectly read in bright magenta letters. It hung upon my door for days. While my room was a “Garth Lovers Only” palace, I began to feel that my love for my idol could not be restricted within those walls. However, I was able to remedy the situation by constructing a series of beaded word necklaces. They all basically said the same thing, usually pertaining to or in the same vein of the “I love Garth” or “Garth rooles” theme.
Soon enough, my obsession began to help me find other Garth lovers. When I was in 3rd grade, there was a playground guard that knew of my Garth obsession. We would talk on and on about how great he was. She even took the time out of her day to copy a video tape for me of Garth Live in Concert. My excitement was all encompassing. I literally shook when she gave it to me, as if I was a heroin addict awaiting her next fix. Stashed away in my backpack, riding home on the bus, my mind never veered from what the tape could potentially offer. I rushed up my driveway, rain boots sloshing through puddles, and went straight to the living room VCR. Sitting inches away from the television screen, I watched in awe as Garth commanded the stage in his American flag button down and ten gallon hat. I was in love.
Then tragedy struck. Garth was swept up into a media sandstorm when it was reported that he had cheated on his wife with Trisha Yearwood. My little 8 year old body had never been filled with so much hatred and rage for the both of them. For the first time in my life, I was disappointed in Garth. The foundation of my obsession/cult had been shaken. How could he cheat on Sandy? Bad Garth, bad. Then, there was that slut Trisha Yearwood. I had it out for her; it was all her fault. Had she not been such a ho, Garth would not have cheated. “ Fuck Trisha Yearwood,” I thought (well maybe not in such colorful language, but in essence that’s what I thought). I’m afraid the 8 year old anger still lingers to this day (no matter how hard I try to give her a second chance, I am just not a fan of Trisha Yearwood).
By the end of my obsession with Garth, my family had had enough. They were all Garthed out.
Mr. Brooks had experienced a meteoric rise in my life, only to exit it as quickly as he had entered. Is this normal? Meh. We all have obsessions at young ages. Mine just happened to be a whiny pop/country star who cheated on his wife. I got your back, Sandy.
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