My dad is a pretty cool fella. He went to high school in the late 60's, had hair like an Aztec Warrior-Poet and requested (and received) an American-made cherry sunburst Fender Stratocaster for his high school graduation present. So he had his priorities straight.
I stole everything from my father's youth when I was an adolescent. His poor CD collection never had a chance. By the time my brother came around, I'm sure there was nothing left but late Madonna and Jeff Beck. Yeesh.
But from his collection, I discovered Zeppelin, the Beatles, the Stones, and a lifelong affection for the sound of the guitar. He was like my big brother in a way. When he was at work, I went into his room and just took whatever looked interesting. And it paid off. When I started playing his high school graduation present upside down (we're both lefties, but because he grew up when he did, he was forced to learn how to play right handed. Thank god for Hendrix!), he went out and bought me my first guitar: a Yamaha with a classic fender Stratocaster body. I started my first band when i was 15. He paid hard-earned cash to have our garage converted into a sweet loft bedroom and practice space. I lived in that room all through college and we practiced almost every day. It was pretty awesome, considering I was still living with my parents. They never complained about the noise or the hours, although the neighbors enjoyed bothering some sworn peace officers occasionally. The cops even said the lady was a bitch.
Anyways, as cheesy as it sounds, I often imagine that if time travel were possible, I would like to go back in time and hang out with my dad when he was a teenager. I think we would have had a blast.
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