It's OK to like Neil Diamond; he's really not that lame

My mother asks me the same question every time she comes to visit, and last month was no different. "Do you have any of my Neil Diamond CDs?" she asks. "Mine are missing and your brothers swear they don't have any of them. And, I can't find that double-disc greatest hits your dad gave me for Christmas." \nMy reply of disgust is usually the same: "Why would I take your Neil Diamond CDs, Mom?"\n"Well, you used to like Neil Diamond," she replies. \nAnd I did used to, until I realized Neil and my mother robbed me of a musical education -- or so I thought. Back when I was young and impressionable, my mother would force feed my brothers and I Barbara Streisand, Barry Manilow and Diamond on a regular basis. No other artists ever found a home in my mother's mini-van (though lately Celine Dion is taking over the CD deck). We hated Streisand and Manilow, but Neil Diamond rocked our pre-pubescent world.\nWhen I was eight, my mother asked me if I wanted to go with her to a Neil Diamond concert. "Will you be my date?" she asked. I thought I was the luckiest 8-year-old in the world. It was my first concert ever, and I was amazed at how small the large, intimidating and packed Market Square Arena became when the lights cut off and the quiet intro to "Heading for the Future" started to slowly flow from the speakers as it softly built up to its hard rock entrance. The amazing special effects kicked in as a bright green laser started to show pictures of a bird flying around. With a giant explosion, Neil and his shoulder length brown hair appeared on stage wearing a shiny, sequined jumpsuit as his chest hair spilled out and he began to rock out Market Square. I knew the other kids in my grade would be so jealous.\nThe next day in school I began bragging. "I saw Neil Diamond in concert last night. He had a laser show," I would say. \n"Who?" almost every kid asked. \n"Neil Diamond," I replied. "You know, he sings 'Coming to America.' Doesn't your mom have his tapes?" Hardly anyone knew whom I was talking about, but one person in the class was a fan -- my ugly, witch of a teacher, Mrs. Phillips. Something was wrong.\nOver the next few years I began to realize Neil Diamond just wasn't as cool as I thought. Later in high school, I grew perturbed with my mother that most kids grew up listening to rock legends like The Eagles, The Rolling Stones or the Beatles, but I had to deal with Barry Manilow, Barbara Streisand and Neil Diamond. I was a rock 'n' roll loser and it was all her and Neil Diamond's fault. From that time on, I made a decision to educate myself in music. The more I learned about music, the more of a loser Neil Diamond became in my mind.\nBut I had a slight problem. I secretly still loved Neil Diamond's music. A few years ago I quietly "borrowed" my mother's Neil Diamond's Greatest Hits double-disc CD. It sat in her car CD rack sandwiched between Hot August Nights II and A Neil Diamond Christmas, and I quietly snuck it into my backpack. The second disc of the album was chock full of hits my mother jammed out to in her mini-van. But the first disc contained a bunch of songs I hadn't really heard of -- at least sung by Neil Diamond. This first disc gave me another small lesson in rock 'n' roll music. I was amazed to discover UB40's "Red Red Wine" was originally a Neil song, so was the Monkees' "I'm a Believer" and so was the Urge Overkill song from Pulp Fiction when Uma Thurman ODs, "Girl You'll Be a Woman Soon." "Sweet Caroline" was also surprisingly penned by Neil, the same man who wrote "Turn On Your Heartlight." Along with some other songs on the CD like "Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show," "Cherry, Cherry" and "Solitary Man," I began to realize old Neil wasn't so bad after all. \nSomething drew me to the crooning sounds of Neil Diamond as a child. I'm not sure what. Maybe it was his hard enthusiasm in the patriotic, soft-rock anthem "America." It could've been the pop-catchiness and novelty from "Heading for the Future," which was from one of my favorite movies of the time, "Back to the Future." Maybe it was just because my Mom loved it so much. My mother didn't even listen to the best Neil Diamond cuts; she stuck to cheesy, soft-rock crap that I ashamedly still hold a liking for. But finally 20 years later, I discovered why this old-time, out-of-date rocker's music was worth the guilt of stealing from my mother. And now with the help of Jack Black in "Saving Silverman," and a small Diamond resurgence, I'm no longer afraid to admit that, yes, I am a Neil Diamond fan.