Rise Up Babylon

I was raised in Montecito, California with my three siblings. Our entire community was insulated by both privilege and the manicured hedges that partitioned our streets. Leafy walls, twice my height, concealed both our home and its fences that were secured by rod iron gates.

Tuition at our private school averaged thirty thousand dollars annually for each of us. This expense did not include the individual instruction we each received from tutors, art teachers and coaches.

My friends, siblings, and I received everything we asked for. We knew little of the work or impact that afforded such entitlement.

My father, Peter Scott Kimball, was empowered by his role as provider for our family of six. His word was law and he expected to be obeyed without question. He ran our family much like he ran his business; Dad was the Chief Executive Officer of Tricera Oil Corporation. 

My father admitted, in our final days together, that it was the kill of the deal and the thrill of the earnings release that pushed him to work incessantly. When he wasn’t traveling or in the office, my father was pacing our halls, barking orders into a phone. Except on Sunday -- he was adamant about worship and keeping the Sabbath day holy.

My mother, Rebecca Kimball, was our nurturer. She was quiet and petite, with long dark hair and mesmerizing light green eyes. Mom’s loveliness spurred my friends, their parents, and even strangers to randomly pull me aside just to whisper, “Your mother is so beautiful.”

Adoration made Mom uncomfortable. Though she preferred the sideline to the spotlight, my mother was strong and entirely dedicated to her children, driving the four of us to and from a steady stream of lessons, practices, performances, and games. She cheered us on like she had no greater purpose in life.

As the only boy, my brother David was molded to follow in my father’s big footsteps, but David was even more brash and insensitive. He’d ridicule me each time Dad marched me back from my forest to my piano bench, as if proving his worthiness of authority to my father. Even as a teen David boasted about his “climb the ladder” strategies. “I’ll be writing the laws that make you rich, Dad!” was one of his oft-repeated idioms. David regularly vocalized his opinion that my dreaming under the stars was a huge waste of time.

My older sister Susan defended me, quoting Einstein, “‘Imagination is more important than knowledge’, David.” Then she would condescend, “Of course you have neither. Just a shit-brown nose.” Susan was usually quiet like my mother, but she could spontaneously turn fierce like my father. Although David was the football quarterback and captain of the debate team, we all knew Susan was more intelligent. And David knew it too. Still, though she protected me from David, Susan and I never really shared a bond as kids because she was so intellectual and I was creating parallel realities in the woods.

It was my little sister Annie with whom I was truly close. She was two years younger and followed me just about everywhere. After school, I’d sneak out the back door to my Magic Forest to be alone, but somehow Annie would find me there with my trees. With her wide, azure-blue eyes, she’d ask me again to show her the difference between black, canyon, blue, and coast live oaks. She was my loyal shadow and companion, and I loved her beyond words.

I imagine our lifestyle seemed idyllic to most folks who knew us. Although our relationships were complicated, we did love each other. And we had everything we could ever want or need.

But my young heart often palpitated with anxiety from living in a fairytale world built on an oppressive system of power and control. As a child, I coped with my underlying unhappiness by creating imaginary universes -- alone at the piano and out in my Magic Forest.

I understand now, I had privilege. But even then, I knew something was wrong. And privilege couldn’t fix it.

Privilege

What’s it like to live a life that only knows privilege

What’s it like to receive everything that you ever ask for

What’s it like to live a life that’s only known privilege

It’s a fairytale, Hollywood dream

Why do I feel so empty

What is this gnawing deep inside 

I’m just a reflection in your eyes

I’m a child at play, you taught me to pray, showed me the way

For now, I’d rather be alone today

What’s it like

You tell me, you can’t live on borrowed light you must find your own faith, learn from your own mistakes

But then you say that I must obey on the bench each day for hours I play

Historical greats, what is it about this I hate, don’t I have it made

If this is the fairytale we’re taught to dream 

Who writes the happy ending?

Innocently, I write and sing 

A different kind, a different kind of melody

Optimistically, I dream, I dream of a parallel reality

What’s it like

What’s it like

What is it like

If life is a ferris wheel, I’m on top it seems

So what am I lamenting

There is a gnawing deep inside 

I search for the answers in your eyes

I am lucky they say, why would I runaway, what could I possibly gain

For now, I’d rather be alone today

Innocently, I write and sing 

A different kind, a different kind of melody

Quite honestly the grass might not be greener

But I’d like to jump the fence just to see

Optimistically, I’m spinning free off the carousel

I write and sing ‘cause I might as well

I dream, I dream of a parallel reality

This is my life I’ve only known privilege