On Our Way To Crazy

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

I am thankful that I grew up in a music house. Even though I never really learned any instruments (SORRY!), there was always music. We listened to America’s Country Coundown on Sunday mornings while we ate breakfast. Stevie Ray Vaughn was always on ACL on the television. You were always playing Crosby Stills Nash & Young songs on the guitar in your chair.

I remember one day I was sitting at the table doing my homework and singing “Landslide” under my breath, a song I thought was by the Smashing Pumpkins. After a confusing conversation about why I was singing an old Fleetwood Mac song, you made me get up, go to the gameroom and listen to the ‘real’ version. Which, as we all now know, is usually the best version.

They may not have stuck, but for a while there I had all kinds of musical talents. I could play the intro to “Wanted Dead of Alive” on the keyboard, the intro to “Daytripper” on the guitar, the marimba solo to “Margaritaville” on my little bells set from the junior high band. I don’t know a lot of other dads who were teaching their kids that stuff.

You taught me a lot of stuff, Dad – not to follow the crowds, to think for myself, that white gravy is delicious on eggs. But today I am most thankful for the music. The desire to find new bands, to see my favorite bands live, to amass as many individual songs onto my ipod as possible.

I don’t understand the non-music people. I blame you for that.

Thank you.