It’s funny how some memories stay with you during your lifetime—things you did as a kid or a young adult that still shape who you are today. The older I get, the more I look back and think I didn’t appreciate how much simpler life was or how few responsibilities I had.

Lately, one memory has been on my mind, prompted by a search through my iTunes library while looking for uplifting music to listen to while I walked the beach. I smiled when I saw an old favorite album of mine and clicked play. Hearing the opening chords of the first song felt like stepping into a time machine that hurled me back over forty years into the past.

It was June 1982 when a group of friends and I headed to Hart Plaza in downtown Detroit for an afternoon of free live music. We all worked together at a family restaurant in the suburbs and miraculously got the day off together. Most of us were working our way through college and had very little money, so when the local radio station, WRIF, announced the second annual “Free Concerts on the Plaza” series, they were speaking our language. We piled into someone’s car, maybe Dave’s? It’s hard to recall; it was so many years ago. But I remember the carefree, happy feeling of being nineteen as we traveled along the Southfield Freeway, talking and laughing.

It was a hot day, but we didn’t care. There was a bit of a breeze off the Detroit River, which made it tolerable. After finding parking in a nearby garage, we hoofed it several blocks to Hart Plaza. We had gotten there early to stake our claim to some space on the concrete steps. Someone offered to get something to eat and drink from a nearby food truck, but I passed, as I’d given the last of my cash to the guy who drove as gas money. Venmo and Apple Pay weren’t a thing back then, which was probably good; I spent less money when I didn’t have the real deal in my pocket.

But, somehow, when he returned, there was “accidentally” an extra soda, which he insisted I take, or it would go to waste. Of course, living in Michigan, I was still calling it pop back in those days. I graciously accepted the drink, trying hard not to feel like that poor friend who never had any money. I look back now and think, jeez, it was just a Coke. Why did I feel so grateful for a soft drink? But it was a hot day, and we’d be there for a long time if we stayed to listen to several bands slotted to play, so I suppose it felt much more generous because of the circumstances.

If I close my eyes, I can remember the sights and the sounds of the people milling about in Hart Plaza. Explaining why it felt like such a big deal is a bit harder. I remember not really caring as much about the music that day. In fact, the list of bands is foggy to me. The Dick the Bruiser Band from WRIF was part of the line-up, and some hometown boy from the suburb where my group of friends lived was on the docket as well. They were Berkley kids, anxious to see him; I was a Detroit girl, along for the ride.

It was more about being old enough to drive downtown with my friends, doing something cool that was more than five miles from my house. It made me feel grown up, although you would have thought getting engaged a year earlier would have done that. But this – this was different. Being the baby of seven siblings, I often felt like I wasn’t seen as an adult. Being small in stature didn't help, either. Hanging out in the city on a summer day felt like a very mature thing to do. This was my first outdoor rock concert without one of my older sisters chaperoning, making this a sort of rite of passage.

The order of events of that day are a bit fuzzy after more than four decades, but when the guy from Berkley, Michigan, began to play, I was instantly drawn into the music, along with thousands of others. People were dancing and singing, and the vibe was incredible! Teenagers, along with twenty- and thirty-somethings, were all grooving to the same beat, enjoying the gorgeous summer day in the heart of the city. I listened as the singer’s distinctive voice captivated me; the music and lyrics were unlike anything I’d heard before that day. I was an instant fan. I found myself singing the newly learned chorus of songs along with my friends and enjoying every minute.

We ended up leaving after his set, hoping to beat the traffic out of downtown. The ride home had me asking my friends all sorts of questions since this musician hailed from their town. Heck, he went to their high school! That’s when I found out that he was ten years older than us, despite his boyish looks. I felt a little disappointed that they didn’t know him or have any clever anecdotes about his high school days. He was long gone before they went to Berkley High. But I thanked them for including me in the fun.

I spent tips from my waitressing job on his album the next week and played it over and over until I’d memorized every word of every song. And each time I listened and sang along, I relived that summer day.

Flashing forward to the present time again, I walked along the beach, listening to the album on my iPhone, amused by how I can forget what the hell I went into a room for, what I ate for dinner two days ago, or the fact that I still need to make my annual appointment for my eye exam. But I remember, forty-three years later, every word to every song on that album.

I smiled as I thought of this man’s career along the way. He would go on to make more albums, write songs for a multitude of other musicians, and even play Buddy Holly in LaBamba. He never became the larger-than-life star I imagined, but he certainly made a name for himself.

I did a search on the Internet and discovered some things I didn’t know: he played John Lennon in the late seventies version of Beatlemania, he still tours doing live shows, and he still has a boyish face despite the gray hair and the fact that he will turn 72 this year.

So, thank you, Marshall Crenshaw, for having the ability to do some amazing things. Not the least of which, for me anyway, is being able to spark a wonderful memory from my youth with just the opening chords to “There She Goes Again.”  “As life goes on and times go by,” I still remember 1982 like it was yesterday because of you.

My son now lives five minutes from where Marshall grew up, and my grandson will attend Berkley High School in a few years. He recently received a guitar for Christmas. It makes me wonder if someday, some way, he’ll end up sparking someone’s memories.