I grew up with the Highwaymen, which was Johnny Cash, Willie

The words of Christian Kane — “I grew up with the Highwaymen, which was Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson. Mom and Dad rode rodeo, so country music was always in the house and the car. They threw in some Dolly Parton, too” — are more than a nostalgic reflection of childhood; they are a hymn to heritage, music, and the quiet power of roots. Within them echoes an eternal truth — that the songs of one’s youth are the soil from which character grows. In the rhythm of those old ballads and the dust of the rodeo, Kane speaks not only of his upbringing, but of the way culture becomes spirit, shaping who we are long before we understand it.

To grow up among the Highwaymen — the legendary band of Cash, Nelson, Jennings, and Kristofferson — is to be raised by the voices of the American frontier itself. Their music was born of hardship, independence, and the vast freedom of open roads and endless skies. In their songs, men and women wrestled with life, loss, and faith under the same stars that watched over pioneers and wanderers for centuries. These were not just entertainers, but modern poets of endurance, keepers of the old tales told with a guitar’s lament instead of a bard’s lyre. To a child, their songs would have been more than melodies — they would have been moral lessons, teaching courage, humility, and love for the simple and the true.

Kane’s parents, riders of the rodeo, belong to the same ancient lineage of the free-hearted — those who live by skill, will, and the strength of their hands. The rodeo, with its dust and danger, mirrors life itself: the struggle to stay upright when the world bucks and twists beneath you. For a boy to be raised in such a world, with country music echoing from the car radio, is to be tutored not in luxury, but in resilience and authenticity. Every lyric becomes a lesson, every story a sermon in grit. And when he recalls those days, he is not just remembering songs — he is remembering the shaping of his soul.

In this, there is a kinship with all who have been molded by the songs of their people. Just as the ancient Greeks passed their values through the epics of Homer, and the Hebrews through the psalms of David, the Americans of the open plains and winding highways passed theirs through country music. It was their scripture of the heart. The Highwaymen sang of rebellion and redemption, of freedom and forgiveness. They were not kings or scholars, but wanderers and poets, reminding all who listened that greatness was not found in wealth or power, but in living true to one’s own story.

And then, there is Dolly Parton, whom Kane mentions with affection. To “throw in some Dolly” is to add the light of compassion and laughter to a world often hardened by dust and struggle. Her voice, full of warmth and wit, stands as the balance to the stoicism of the cowboys — a reminder that tenderness is not weakness, and that beauty and humor have their own kind of strength. The presence of her music in the family home shows the wholeness of that upbringing: toughness and tenderness, discipline and joy, all living in harmony within the same melody.

There is a lesson here for all generations. In a world that changes faster than the heart can follow, do not forget the songs that raised you. The music, the stories, the values of your youth are not just memories — they are the roots of your identity, the compass that keeps you true when the winds of the world blow you astray. Whether your songs were country ballads or lullabies from another land, they are sacred. They carry the voices of your ancestors, and through them, you remember who you are.

So let the teaching of Christian Kane’s words echo in your heart: honor your beginnings. Fill your home and your journey with the music that shaped your soul. Teach your children the songs that taught you courage. For the world forgets easily, but the spirit remembers the tune of its creation. As the Highwaymen once sang of roads without end, so too does every life carry its own song — one that begins in the voices of those who came before. And if we are wise, we will keep singing it, passing it down like fire through the generations, until even the silence hums with the memory of who we were, and what we loved.