My dad recently said, “Isn’t it wonderful that God gave us music. Something so wonderful that speaks directly to our souls. What would life be without it?”
When I was a kid, I used to love the smell of my dad’s record collection – a little dust, a little cardboard, a little Rubber Soul. It smelled like endless possibilities. I loved the bass, the patterns of sound, the colors, the crazy album covers and the fragility of the sleeves. I used to grab a corner of a speaker and bounce up and down and laugh (so they tell me).
Today is my dad’s birthday. When I think about him, I’m thankful for the gift he gave me by letting me explore his records and putting no boundaries on his taste other than what sounded good. He taught me how to be eclectic, to listen, and by extension, think.
Happy birthday Pops. I wish we could brush off the dust on your favorite album, drop the needle, listen to the crackle-and-hum that comes before each track and say “Man, that’s good.”