Yesterday, a friend sent me a message via Facebook asking for my “15 in 15”; I had 15 minutes to name the 15 albums that mean the most to me. The process brought up recollections of the first tape I ever bought (Huey Lewis and the News’ Sports) and all the hours I spent secretly looking through my four brothers’ collections of LPs, staring at Led Zepplin and Iron Maiden covers. Back then I had no idea what the covers (or the music inside) was about, but I knew that I liked what I saw and heard. My dad had a record collection, too, as well as a nice selection of 8-tracks. I would plug the Bay City Rollers into our family stereo and arrange the speakers so they were only inches from either side of my head. Stretched out on the floor, I would let Saturday Night envelop me. The presence of all that music in our house made me into someone for whom music is an integral part of life. Not a day goes by that I don’t choose a song on my ipod to fit my mood as I drive to work or clean up my classroom, and I’m constantly on the lookout for the next band that has worked out the arrangement of chords and lyrics that will send a shiver of pleasure down my spine. Music enriches my life and brings a certain kind of joy that I get nowhere else, and I’m grateful for it. I have to wonder though, will it be the same for my kid? Will they come to it as I did? Will they appreciate it like I do? My music collection is on a device no bigger than an index card. There’s nothing to look at; nothing to hold and ponder as the music bounces around between my ears. Sure, a picture of the album cover comes with each file, but the picture’s about as big as a postage stamp. It’s not large enough for serious pondering. I can remember where and when I was sitting, listening to U2’s The Joshua Tree back in 1987, the gatefold album open on my knees as I read the lyrics and took in every detail of the stark black and white photos of the desert. I wasn’t in my brother’s room anymore, I was in the desert with those four guys. Maybe I would’ve liked the album just as much without something physical to hold and take in, but I like that memory and my others like it. I want my kid to have some of the same. I wonder what Linda will say when I tell her I want to find an old record player, a set of headphones, and start collecting LPs.
68 days until baby. Please comment and follow!