One of my favorite memories of my dad happened when I was small. I don't exactly remember what age I was, I just remember the atmosphere: we were in our living room, which at the time was barren; it only contained a couch, a t.v., and a record player. I also remember we had horrible carpet- which is odd to me now, considering my dad owns a flooring store. But for some reason, I knew he picked what he wanted- and that always worked. He must have realized this mistake due to the fact that we no longer have that carpet.
I remember the earth-toned walls that paralleled the oak tower of technology, which held a moment of time that will last as long as my memory will. The look on his face changed when he walked over and placed the needle on the steel-black, vinyl surface. He was anticipating the music. An unfamiliar voice was then heard by my ears, but an old-time friend was heard by his. I remember the opening words "Oh baby, baby, it's a wild world" like they were playing now. There was no dancing; there was no movement at all. That afternoon dad introduced me to music- his music. We shared a moment of truth I was too young to understand, and he was too naiive to understand. That song was my first introduction to music; it was also my first introduction to my dad.
To this day, one of my favorite things to do with him is listen to music. However, today we did not listen to music. Instead we read and cooked a delicious meal. Coming and going years change our relationship. Now it seems to evolve into a growing friendship, one that allows me to enjoy his company more than previous times.
I admire my father.
He is a wonderful man who puts himself last.
Sometimes I don't recognize this fact, but inherently I know it to be true.
Happy Father's Day, dad-
sent with an eternal thankfulness for your 'hipness'
and your hippy music.
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