On Tuesday, Garth Brooks is putting out an album by a man who doesn't exist.

I have been a Garth fan for ten years. I have seen him six times. I own every album, two of the big colored-block shirts (one is Dan's, technically, but he never wears it), and a coffee mug from the world tour that I won't let anybody else in this house drink out of. And I honestly do not know what I think about this Chris Gaines business. So I'm going to think about it out loud, on here, where Tammie can't interrupt me.

First, though, the regular Garth stuff, for anybody who wandered in by accident. If you only want the Chris part, skip ahead to it here.

ON THIS PAGE: An Oklahoma Boy • The Albums • Central Park • My Six Shows • Who Is Chris Gaines?

I'm Andrea Englehart. I'm 34, I'm the school secretary at an elementary school here in Tulsa, which means I know where every child's inhaler is and nobody ever knows where I am, and I've been married to Dan for thirteen years. We have a daughter, Jessica, who is twelve and who rolls her eyes when I sing in the car, so I sing louder.

Garth is ours. That's the first thing to know. Troyal Garth Brooks was born right here in Tulsa on February 7, 1962, and grew up in Yukon, west of Oklahoma City, the youngest in a big family. His mother sang country music for a living back in the fifties, so it was in the house. He went to Oklahoma State in Stillwater on a track scholarship, throwing the javelin, and got a degree in advertising, which if you've ever watched him work a crowd you'll understand.

The story everybody in Oklahoma knows is that he went to Nashville the first time in 1985 and came home in about a day, because it wasn't what he thought. He went back a couple of years later with his wife Sandy, stuck it out, and Capitol signed him in 1988. Every time something big happens to him, somebody at my school says "and he came home after one day," like it's a moral. It kind of is.

In order, with the songs I'd play you if you were in my car.

Garth Brooks (1989). The first one, the one that got me. "If Tomorrow Never Comes" was his first number one, and "The Dance" is the best country song of the decade, and I will not be taking questions. The video for The Dance still gets me every time.

No Fences (1990). "Friends in Low Places." You know it. Everybody knows it. Also "Unanswered Prayers," which I made Dan listen to when we were having a rough patch, and "The Thunder Rolls," whose video some of the channels wouldn't even show. That's how you know it was strong.

Ropin' the Wind (1991). The first album ever to come in at number one on the pop chart and the country chart at the same time. "The River," "Rodeo," and his take on Billy Joel's "Shameless," which I like better than the original. Sorry, Billy.

Beyond the Season (1992). The Christmas album. Comes out of the box at our house the day after Thanksgiving and not one day before.

The Chase (1992). "We Shall Be Free" upset some people. I thought it was brave. "Learning to Live Again" is the one I play when I'm sad.

In Pieces (1993). "Ain't Going Down ('Til the Sun Comes Up)" is the best song in the world to drive fast to, and "Standing Outside the Fire" is the best song in the world to drive slow to.

The Hits (1994). If you're new, start here, then go back.

Fresh Horses (1995). "The Beaches of Cheyenne." Underrated album. I'll fight you.

Sevens (1997). "Two Piña Coladas" is the one everybody sang at my cousin's wedding, and "In Another's Eyes" with Trisha Yearwood is the one I sang along to, quietly, in the corner.

Double Live (1998). Two discs of him live on the world tour. If you've never been to a Garth show, this is the next best thing, and you can hear twenty thousand people singing along, which is the point.

August 7, 1997. Garth played a free concert in Central Park in New York City, and HBO showed it live. The police said about 250,000 people came. We don't get HBO, so Dan and Jessica and I went over to my sister's with a bag of chips, and her husband grumbled through the first half hour and then stood up and sang along with the rest of us. Billy Joel came out and sang with him, which made Dan very happy, since he's a Billy Joel man at heart.

What I remember most is the shots from above, the whole meadow just packed with people, way back into the trees, and a boy from Yukon down there in the middle of it. My sister cried. I didn't. (I did.)

Six times, every one of them with my best friend Tammie Roudebush, who I've known since the seventh grade and who has been to more Garth shows than anybody I know except Garth.

1. Oklahoma City, 1991. My first. I didn't know yet what he was like live. He had one of those little microphones on a headset so his hands were free, and he never stopped moving for two hours. He ran from one end of the stage to the other. He got down on his knees at the edge. At one point I lost track of him and then there he was, climbing up the side of the stage like it was the monkey bars. I went home with no voice and I had to answer phones the next day. Sounded like a frog.

2. 1992. Tammie's car broke down on the way home and we sat on the side of the turnpike at one in the morning singing "Friends in Low Places" to keep awake until her brother came. It's the best part of the whole story and it didn't even happen at the concert.

3. 1993. I was six months pregnant. I'm not going to talk about that one. (It didn't work out. We're OK.)

4. 1994. The one where I got close enough to see the sweat. Row twelve. Tammie elbowed a man from Arkansas to get us there and I've never told her how proud I was.

5. 1996. Tickets went on sale on a Saturday morning and Tammie and I had two phones each going and called and called. He kept the ticket price low on purpose so regular people could go, and I loved him for that, even though the busy signals about killed me.

6. 1998. Tammie's 34th birthday. We drove three and a half hours and sat so far up we could have been in a different county. Didn't matter. When the whole place sang "The Dance" with him at the end, Tammie grabbed my arm and neither of us said a word.