Rock Hard

 The kids, they love that rock and roll.

And me too. 

I say this because I'm sniffing up next to my fifty-ninth birthday, and I am still prone to be listening to pop rock, punk rock, soft rock, country rock, hard rock or some variant of rock that has heretofore gone unexplained when I have the opportunity. This includes those moments during which most, if not all, of these blog posts have been composed. 

It's not exactly background music. I tend to favor a comfortable volume, but loud enough that I still have to pause my music to hear my wife suggesting that I could turn it down. A little. 

Sometimes that means I resort to headphones. This was a favorite escape in my youth, when I lived across the hall from my parents. It also helped that those speakers mashed right up against my ears were far better than my proto-stereo. The revolution may or may not have been televised, but it certainly came roaring through my head all those years ago. 

Just the other night my wife and I were wandering through a book store, and found a section of vinyl record albums. I picked one up and held it up for her to see. "You know what this is," I invited her to participate in my reverie. Her blank stare confounded me. It became a question. "You don't know what this is?" The stare continued. "It's Led Zeppelin IV." I said "four," but in my mind it would always be in Roman Numerals. I was holding a sacred object, in my mind. For my wife, I might as well have been lifting up a soiled Kleenex. 

I might have had better success with my son, whose music tastes I have enhanced/corrupted since he was old enough to bob his head up and down. I believe he has done a good job of keeping my ears open to what is rocking the house these days. We are happy to have held on to our tickets to see Green Day and Weezer after they were postponed a year ago. More rock. More roll. It keeps us young. 

Younger. 

Feeling young?

Okay. Reminds me of when I was young.