“Na, na, na, na; Na na na na; Hey, Hey; Goodbye.”

Immortal, profound lyrics from the 1960s – the decade of true rock ‘n’ roll. I am always a little reluctant to reveal it, but – yes – I am the author of those lyrics that seem to sum up the whole ’60s music experience.

Actually, I was once considered somewhat of a poet laureate of Lake Highlands. A sample: “Ooh baby; Yeah, yeah; Yeah, ooh baby; Baby, yeah.”

Well, that was a long time ago. It almost seems like it was someone else’s life – not mine. But I couldn’t be a child of Woodstock forever.

There were responsibilities to my country and family (and I had to take out the trash). I closed the lid over the keys of my favorite upright piano, which I affectionately called “Ol’ Favorite Upright Piano.” I carried it up to the attic, and there it has remained, collecting layers of dust for these many years.

And then, one day, it was as if a little window in the back of my mind opened up – and I wondered, do I have a bunch of little windows in my mind? Or is this my mind’s way of telling me that it has no air conditioning?

Anyway, I started to think again of passionate, inspired lyrics like: “Shimmy, shimmy, ko-ko bop” and “Da doo run run run, da doo run run” and “In-a-gadda-davida baby.”

I reflected over whether my musical inclinations were reawakening or whether the toxic fumes from years of changing diapers had finally affected my nervous system.

I went walking one day, thinking over these deep thoughts, and soon found myself atop Flagpole Hill. Much to my surprise, I saw three of my friends, who had wandered to the same place on their own individual quests for a musical mecca.

One friend played drums. I asked him if Ringo had inspired him. He said: “No, I never liked the Marx Brothers.”

Another friend said he liked the play bass guitar. I asked why. He replied: “Because without it, all music would be baseless.”

And my third friend said: “I can sing like Ethel Merman and Joe Cocker.” I suggested day surgery.

As the sun set behind Central Expressway, we continued trading favorite songs and singers with each other: Manilow, Mantovani, the Archies, the Partridge Family, the Spice Girls, Hanson – all the true rock ‘n’ roll legends.

Then it hit us. White Rock Lake is really being dredged to be turned into a DART parking lot. But the other thing that hit us is that we realized that we should start a rock ‘n’ roll band of old guys from Lake Highlands.

We could call ourselves “Men II Boyz” or the “Mid-life Crises.”

One big problem, though. Every great band has an Eric Clapton, a Stevie Ray Vaughn, a Joe Walsh, a Tiny Tim. We needed a lead guitar player.

So, what about you, loyal reader? Are you that missing ingredient, that missing link, that loose screw? Who knows – our fame and fortune might be only one lead guitarist away.

This time next year, we might be playing the Lake Highlands Exchange Club auction. Move over, Esprit!

Don’t worry, we won’t quit our day jobs – yet.