The year was 1987.
The hair was big.
The jeans were ripped.
And we were all just living on a prayer.
The Ilagan household had just gotten their first taste of cable on a television that you didn’t need to change channels manually (about five years after all the other kids had it). Say what you will about being the son of a doctor – there were hardships and lessons too. As kids, we didn’t always notice this, but the absence of MTV was a social stigma, leaving us to pretend we knew what everyone at school was talking about, faking our way through the minefields of peer-pressure and not wanting to be left out of the loop. I was pretty upfront about my ignorance, rapping along with the kids who sang Run DMC, only I was saying, “You be L.A.” instead of “You be illin’.” No one seemed to notice. That’s the thing about pretending – sometimes, if you’re really good at it, it becomes truth, and the knowledge that you never had, but that they think you possess, turns into currency, and respect. Even if it’s built on a lie, on a fucked-up lyric taken as slang.
We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
‘Cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love – we’ll give it a shot
We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
‘Cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love – we’ll give it a shot
