After a few months of doing "all right" in respect to my dad's death, I just had a bout of missing him tremendously. My dad loved music, and back in the day (late-70s through the mid-80s) he listened to a lot of what we now call "classic rock". It wasn't until until the alternative rock music that he embraced the "music of the time" and as a non-fan of 80s music I had to agree. Dad was always listening to music — in the car on the radio or cassette deck, in the living room on the radio or record player, in the backyard with his speakers blaring out his bedroom windows.
I obtained a playlist of the "Top 500 rock songs". Dozens of these songs bring distinct and vibrant memories of my childhood, riding in the car or sitting in the living room and listening to music with my dad . . . Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Joe Walsh, The Eagles — listening to these songs again, I can hear him in the background, singing gleefully at the top of his lungs, unaware and uncaring of how badly he sang. He tried his best to sing well, but you could just tell that he was more concerned with enjoying the music and having fun.
Who knew that Roadhouse Blues would one day bring me to tears?