Turn Your Radio On

My dad always drove a beat up pickup truck as I was growing up. I learned how to drive a stick shift in that old truck. It was green and he always had the radio tuned to KFDI, a local yokel country station. My siblings and I would always laugh about his choice of music when we were out of earshot. Daddy liked to listen to country music. Really, really country music. Music about lost love, rumbly pickup trucks and losin' your dog. It was easy to sing along, but as teenagers we knew we were supposed to ridicule and shun country music and only punish our ears with rock and roll. There was always a station that all the local teens tuned to on their car radios. Today I listen to a moderate rock station. In fact, they play what are now referred to as oldies mixed in with some new stuff. I like the patter of the DJ's in the mornings. Sometimes I call in with a story or try to win tickets with my witty answers. When my own teenagers get into my car, their hands immediately head for the radio tuner. My daughter likes to cruise through, not pausing long enough for me to figure out what the heck the station's genre is. If a commercial is playing, she glides by looking for just the right sound. She is the same with the TV remote and has been banned from the controller when I am in the room. It makes my head hurt and I don't like watching bits and pieces of various shows. My son, however, (if he ever gets to ride up front instead of his bossy twin) will simply tune it to the closest Christian screamo station. I can bear this for about half a song. It makes me feel so old. Isn't church music supposed to soothe the soul? Do we have to shout and strain our vocal chords professing our love for Jesus? I remember fighting with my mother over the radio choice when I was a teen. I changed the station whenever I drove the lumbering station wagon, but not if I was a passenger. Mama liked Elvis but not those "new ones" from England. My mother drives in silence now. I think she feels the need to concentrate on her driving as she gets older. the music distracts her, there aren't any stations that play swing music from her era, and she no longer has a cassette player in her car. My daddy, however, is a different sort of geezer. He still hums along with his new favorite country song. He likes all the sweet young things that sing country. If you asked him who his favorite singer is, he would probably say Hank Williams as my mother rolls her eyes. Geez, Dad, he's been dead for quite some time. Still a classic, he'll say. I used to groan and roll my eyes, but now I simply shake my head and smile when he asks that same old question, "Have you heard this one?" Oh, Dad!