
Originally Posted by
GuyMonkey
It was my dad. When I was just a youngster, 2 or 3 years old, right up until I was 6 or 7, my dad and I would always go cruising in his Firebird. It didn't matter where we were going, just that we were hanging out, father and son, having a good time. The Beatles would always be playing. He liked the stuff from the touring years - I would've asked him to play the studio years, but I didn't know any better.
I remember the first time I ever saw my dad play the guitar. I'd always seen the thing hanging up on the wall and wondered what it sounded like. I don't know what I was doing at the time, probably playing Super Mario Bros. or something, but I heard this music coming from upstairs, in my parents bedroom. I went to check it out, and he was just chilling out on the bed, playing (and singing [poorly, I might add]) Yesterday. It was the coolest thing in the world, to know the words to this song and how it went, and to see my dad playing it. That one pivotal moment in my life would form the basis of who I would eventually become. A lover of music who feels more at peace with the world than the Dalai Lama so long as he's got a six-string and comfy place to sit.
But then something happened. I still don't understand it to this day, but something happened within my dad that changed him. He became an angry person. Our relationship deteriorated as I got older and he got colder. Words were said, things were thrown. We were more like warring countries than family. He didn't play The Beatles anymore. After awhile, I grew to hate my dad, so much so that I couldn't wait to get away from home. I graduated high school, moved a province away, and started my new life.
In the months leading up to the move, I saw yet another change happening in my dad. It was as if he was finally realizing that he'd wasted all the years that he could've spent actually getting to know me, to find out who I was growing up to be, being an actual f*cking DAD for once, and I think it made him pretty sad. He started taking an interest in what I was doing, started making an effort to get out and do a few things.
And then I moved. It wasn't something that was always on my mind, but every now and then I'd think about my family back home and I'd feel glad that I was able to move away on at least decent terms with my father. It was a comfortable feeling. I came back to visit during Christmas Break of my first year of college. When I got to my family home, I had barely dropped my bags in my old room when my dad came up to me, really excited about something that he had bought, pulling it out of the closet and hooking it up to the TV. It was a karaoke machine loaded with a couple thousand songs.
Take a guess at the first song he picked to sing.