Hanging With Dad

 Even though my dad and I were never exceptionally close, we could, on occasion, find something mutually interesting to talk about.  We'd converse on the finer points of Le Morte D'Arthur, marvel over the seemingly obvious conspiracies surrounding the Freemasons, and entertain ourselves with the comedic genius of the impeccably brilliant Dylan Moran.  But when those conversation pieces were gone, we would hardly ever speak.  We both wanted to, but neither of us could quite connect with the other.  Until we inevitably found ourselves in the same vehicle: Queen, played through the truck speakers, could always bring us together.

 Dad, a frequent concertgoer in his youth, was almost deaf as a result of his teenage exploits.  he would have to turn the radio up to what he deemed "Ghetto Level" before he could hear it over the truck.  But that was fine by both of us. To have Queen played at anything other than maximum volume was approaching sacriledge, a blasphemous act which simply could not be tolerated by die-hard Eurpoean rock fans such as we.

 The song Dad never seemed to tire of was "I Want to Break Free".  No matter how many times he heard it, it never became boring or redundant.  it was the first song we'd hear as we pulled out of the driveway, and the last song we'd hear as he switched off the engine.  We might not have been close enough to talk as typical family members would, but the second that intro played, we were sent to a place where everything was okay.

 Dad suddenly passed away in early 2007, a week after I moved from home.  Even though I was many miles away, all I'd have to do is listen to his favorite song and instantly I'd be transported to those car rides.