Party on, Garth.

GB Management
ATTN: Garth Brooks
1111 17th Ave. South
Nashville, TN 37212



Dear Mr. Brooks,

I am a reasonably well-adjusted adult, and I respect the boundaries between celebrity and real life. I don’t make a habit of writing letters to strangers (unless I’ve hit their car in the parking lot) and certainly not in the genre of “fan mail,” which, while well-intentioned, generally does not carry much of a point. (I did once write a letter to Superman informing him of my intent to marry him in thirteen years, but I blame that on youth and spandex.) So I respectfully ask that you not consider this a fan letter, but rather a polite—if lengthy—thank-you note.

Approximately 12 years ago, I was sitting on the torn vinyl seat of a school bus during my first high school field trip. I barely knew the people that surrounded me, and was largely convinced that high school was going to be as awful as middle school. But as we laughed and sang those insufferable bus-songs that we don’t grow to hate until later in life, I began to think high school might just work out. There were a few people here and there who sang gamely along to “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” but scattered conversations kept most of the bus riders occupied within their own little groups.

It wasn’t until someone in the back of the bus called out, “Blame it all on my roots…!” that everyone stopped talking and looked toward the source of the outburst. I had utterly no idea what that phrase meant, so when the majority of the bus suddenly sang back, “I showed up in boots!” I wondered in mute surprise if I hadn’t missed a rather important memo. Nobody in my family listened to country music…I had never heard of anyone named Garth Brooks, and I had certainly never heard this song before. I sat quietly while everyone around me belted out their very best rendition of “Friends In Low Places,” wishing I could sing along, and made a mental note to investigate this song—a song that seemingly had the power to unite notoriously un-unitable high schoolers.

A friend of mine (and fellow bus rider) kindly lent me her No Fences album so I could hear the song for myself, with the advisement to “also check out Track Six [‘Unanswered Prayers’]. Trust me.” Track Six was like nothing I’d ever heard before, and I immediately dragged my mother into my room so that she could hear it for herself. She agreed it was lovely, and we sat together and listened to the entire album. For the next high school field trip, I was ready.

No Fences was the first country music CD I ever owned, though I maintained a steadfast declaration that I did not listen to country music. At this point, Garth (may I call you Garth?), I would like to apologize for my teenagerly diss on the country genre as a whole. At that age, I also thought zucchini was for nerds and I wouldn’t wear a t-shirt unless it was four sizes too big for me, so I can only claim general teenagerness. You understand.

When I started seeing my first boyfriend, who was a cowboy, I magically changed my mind about country music.

There began an on-again, off-again relationship with that particular music genre over the years, but I never wavered from my Garth Brooks CDs. Whether or not I currently liked country music didn’t matter; “Garth” was something else entirely. Even as other bands, singers, and genres helped to soundtrack my life, your music was always there. And with it playing in the background, I survived high school.

My mother continued to share my appreciation for your music; she and I would blast my albums and sing along at full volume on our numerous road trips across America. No matter where we lived (and we lived in many places), it was our “thing”—something nobody else in the family shared—and we loved it. While watching one of your televised concerts one Thanksgiving after your retirement, we promised each other that if you ever had another live tour, we would totally be there.

I went off to college in 1999, and moving away from my family was the most terrifying thing I’d faced in my short life. I was a thousand miles from home, living with a stranger, learning to be an adult, figuring out who I was and who I wanted to be…and I missed my mommy.

Not long after my roommate and I met, we discovered that we had something in common: she liked Garth Brooks, too. This simple commonality was an instant relief, and suddenly we weren’t strangers anymore. She owned the Double Live album, which blasted from our room often and loudly. We sang along with a determined commitment to learn every word, and as it brought me a little closer to my new roommate, I felt like maybe my mother wasn’t quite so far away, either.

With your music once again playing in the background, I survived college.

In 2006, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a rough year, filled with doctors and test results and surgeries and recuperations. On November 12, 2006, my 25th birthday, I sat next to my mom’s hospital bed as she recovered from a bilateral mastectomy to remove the tumors that had luckily been detected early. I didn’t know how many more birthdays I would have with her, much less whether or not we’d ever get a chance to make good on our promise to see you perform live. That also happened to be the day we found out that my father had moderately aggressive prostate cancer, and would be requiring surgery of his own. It wasn’t my best birthday.

Exactly one year later, my birthday found me in Kansas City, standing alongside my (now officially cancer-free) mother at the Sprint Center as we both sang with you at the very top of our lungs, much like our many cross-country road trips. It was every bit as fantastic we imagined it would be back when we made our promise—with an added poignancy I could never have predicted at the time. With my arm around my mom, we sang every word to “Unanswered Prayers” (Track Six!), and I decided that this was my favorite birthday.

At some point during the concert that night, you said “Happy Birthday!” to someone in the audience. It wasn’t me. But it sort of was.

Thank you for helping me through high school, college, boyfriends, road trips, and cancer. Thank you for giving me and my mom something that belongs only to us. Thank you for wrapping your latest CD in pink to benefit the Susan G. Komen Foundation. But mostly, thank you for coming out of retirement in such a spectacular fashion, however temporary it may be, to make my birthday so special.

So far, 26 has been a very good year.

Still singing on the bus,
[Meldraw]