An unlikely song recalls a bond with a dad and the start of a relationship with Christ

(Editor’s note: The Criterion has invited you, our readers, to share a song that has led you into a deeper level of faith, humanity or love. Here is one of the songs—and why it is special—that has been shared so far.)

One in an occasional series
 

By John Shaughnessy

It’s not the kind of song that is usually associated with a deep bond between a teenager and his father.

Nor is it a song that’s usually connected to the start of someone’s personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

Yet, Charles Ringle considers a popular song from the 1960s as the common thread to those two important relationships for him.

The upbeat song is also tied to a heartbreaking time in Ringle’s life.

“When I was 15, my world changed forever with the passing of my dad, who was 57,” recalls Ringle, a member of St. John Paul II Parish in Sellersburg. “I found myself sitting in the back seat of my uncle’s car as he drove us about 20 minutes from Lanesville to the funeral home in Corydon for the visitation—a place where the heavy grief of pre-burial routines felt overwhelming for a young teenager.”

Lost in his grief, the teenaged Ringle thought of his life with his dad, including one of the reminders his father often gave him.

“Growing up in Lanesville, life revolved around a simple geography: the east end where we lived, the far west end, and the center of town that my family simply called ‘downtown,’ ” Ringle notes. “For us kids, downtown was the heart of the community. It had a couple of pinball machines and sodas, making it the main place to gather.

“My dad always cautioned me against playing pinball machines. Having grown up in an era when pinball was tied to gambling, he worried about the habit, even though our local machines only paid off in free games. As a teenager, I was fascinated by the vibrant, flashing lights and the fast bounces of the game. Whenever friends were heading that way, I’d ask, ‘Dad, can I go downtown?’ He usually said yes, always adding his gentle reminder: ‘Just don’t play the pinball machines.’ ”

As those memories filled Ringle’s mind during the drive to the funeral home, the radio in his uncle’s car played the 1964 hit song “Downtown” by Petula Clark. The teenaged Ringle focused on two lyrics:

The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares ...

“Those words became the biggest marker in my mind during that drive,” Ringle recalls. “Hearing about bright, flashing lights and forgetting your troubles struck a deep chord in my 15-year-old heart. In my grief and youth, I pondered the lyrics and wondered if losing my dad was somehow a punishment for chasing those flashing lights he had warned me about.

“Looking back now, I know that isn’t how God works. God does not use loss to punish a child’s innocent curiosity. Instead, I realize now that he was using that moment to speak to me in a language I could understand in the middle of immense heartbreak.”

For Ringle, it was all a part of saying goodbye to the father he loved.

Across the years, he also remembers it as “the beginning of a long walk toward a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.”

“What once felt like fear turned into an understanding of God’s presence, showing me that even in our darkest moments, he meets us right where we are and guides us toward his grace.

“Though much has happened in the years between then and now, reflecting on this memory has made me truly aware of how God used that moment to start me on my path of faith.”
 

(Whether it’s a song from popular culture or from a church hymnal, you are invited to share your story of how that song has led you to a deeper level of faith, humanity or love. Please send your story and song(s) to John Shaughnessy at jshaughnessy@archindy.org or by mail in care of The Criterion, 1400 N. Meridian St., Indianapolis, IN 46202. Please include your parish and a daytime phone number where you can be reached.) †