Rare Ould Times

Eleventh grade Dusty was still shy. She showed signs of blooming silliness and spontaneity here and there, but she was mostly reserved and quiet--recovering from a period of prolonged depression and learning how to manage it.

At school, she kept to her couple of small circles of friends, one in the library and one out on the quad during lunch hour. Both were circles of people-who-didn't-quite-fit-but-were-generally-liked. They were miscellaneous bunches who recognized the creativity and weirdness in each other and were drawn to that.

Eleventh grade was only her second year in any kind of regular schooling. Various shades of homeschooling had been the norm up through ninth grade. She sort of understood the ropes at this point, but was always a little bit of an outsider. After all, what normally schooled kid would be thrilled to death at getting to see their peers and teachers every single weekday? Why was a class ring, or a high school yearbook, or getting to take a ceramics class such a big deal? Who cared that math tutoring was available whenever you needed it?

She was a bit of a weirdo, but a pretty quiet one.

One day, eleventh grade English popped out an interesting extra credit assignment: bring in a song to play and analyze the lyrics in front of the class.

The gears began to churn, and a very silly idea sprouted its first few leaves. She signed up and began combing through her music collection of semi-obscure (certainly not generally popular) artists for the perfect song.

When her assigned day came, she stood in front of the class and began to play Rare Ould Times by Flogging Molly.

The opening strains with the gentle, Irish lilt backed by soft guitar strums and harmonica didn't cause a stir. In fact, the sedentary pace of the music likely triggered a few eye-rolls. Of course this is her type of music. She could practically hear the dismissive thoughts. She was nervous, but she began to smile because it was just a matter of time.

As the opening lines closed, the drums kicked in hard and the pace rocketed. Every head whipped in her direction as Flogging Molly laid down a proper rock-song beat and the singer's voice took on a raspy edge. To this day, she recalls the shock on the face of the guy who was the biggest class clown and the wave of re-evaluating grins that came her way. She was already beaming with her biggest bet-you-didn't-know-I-like-Irish-punk-rock grin. It was the perfect bait-and-switch song.

At the close of the song, she was able to bring to bear a recent visit to Ireland and Northern Ireland in her analysis. While there, she learned of the political conflicts that led to phrases in the song like "A rogue and child of Mary, from the rebel liberties". The idea of progress in Ireland and the loss of job categories like coopers was another avenue to explore. By the time she sat down, she was pretty well pleased with how she had done.

She wasn't treated that differently afterward, and that was all well and good. But she would never forget the look on their faces when she completely upended what they thought she was like and surprised them with a moment of pure silliness. It was an expression she would seek to bring about on faces around her for many years to come.