"Do You Feel Like We Do?"

On my way to work today “Do You Feel Like We Do?” came on the radio. Every time I hear that song, I’m transported back to my childhood. Well, in all honesty, there are a lot of songs that do that. In most cases, kids listen to the kind of music their parents were listening to as they were growing. Because of the area that we live in, more often than not, it’s country. And, that’s cool. But, for me, it was rock music. When I was growing up, I heard a lot of it. At a very high decibel. My dad had a room dedicated in my parents’ basement for his stereo equipment, the “Stereo Room”. A Marantz receiver was the control deck to the turntable, reel-to-reel, tape player, two 4-foot tall tower speakers (I don’t remember the wattage, but it was a huge number for the time), and two smaller speakers perched on the taller ones. I’m not joking when I say that you could feel the bass on the second floor. You could probably hear it from down the road, but I never tested the theory. It’s a wonder none of us kids are hearing impaired. Even with as much patience as my dad does not have, he was always willing to share music with us. As long as we didn’t “fart around down there”, he would spend hours spinning records and loading the reel-to-reel. I remember distinctly a couple of times when I was pretty young, I would be listening to some 80’s schlock on Y-94, and he would say, “Turn that shit off. I’ll go play you some good music.” And, he didn’t disappoint. My dad had a chair directly in front of the turntable, with his albums lined up underneath. And, he had some great ones. In this room, I first heard The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Doors, The Who, Pink Floyd, all the great classic rock. Of course, it was just plain old rock ‘n roll in those days. I loved those albums. I could look at them for hours. Way back in the stone age of the 60’s and 70’s, album covers were as much an art piece as the music they contained inside. My favorites were the Stones’ albums. Some Girls, with the cut-out faces, and Sticky Fingers, with the real zipper on the jeans, (my sister and I would giggle about the guy in his underwear on the inside). They’re collector’s items today. We should have treated them better. And he had the requisites for any music fan: Woodstock, the album, Frampton Comes Alive, the Beatles (White Album), and so many others. The smell of the vinyl as you removed the album from its sleeve, the static as the needle hits the groove, the crackle of the scratches from too many album plays, all memories that I treasure. Then, the SOUND as the first song would begin to play. Dad would crank the volume, and you were instantly surrounded by the music. Pure heaven. To this day, I like to play music as loud as I heard it when I was growing up. My husband and kids are less appreciative than I was, so I usually only play it that loud when I’m in my car, alone ( props to the Bose in my car. It takes the abuse I shell out to it every day like a champ). But, I might be doing something right too. My daughter’s favorite song is “Heartbreaker”, from Led Zeppelin. And, I love that. The tradition must carry on. Sadly, the stereo room no longer serves the purpose of wrecking ear drums anymore. It’s a storage space, now. The turntable and reel-to-reel haven’t had any tunes played on them in years. I’m not even sure where my dad’s albums are. But, I do have the memories. And, those I’ll keep with me forever. Over the years my dad has given me a lot of things, but one of his greatest gifts is a love of music. And, in the grand scheme of things, it’s the one I treasure the most. Thank you, Dad. Rock on.