Satellite Radio

 

My dad and I are a lot alike, with a preference to be passive, peaceful.  But there’s also something that my dad and I share–we repeat ourselves, our stories, our jokes.  So, I’m a little surprised with myself that I haven’t wanted to repeat a post until now.  But it’s my dad’s birthday and this song reminds me of him.  Maybe it’s just the beard.

 

This song by Steve Earle is my childhood.  My dad was hugely into HAM radio, has “call” letters and even has a station in his basement, which is covered in boxes and cobwebs now, regretfully neglected.

As a child and adolescent, I could often be found barricaded inside my bedroom writing passionate, painful, elemental (i.e. embarassing) love stories.  But to me they weren’t romantic stories, but life and death stories.

As I created worlds in my room, I would hear my dad broadcasting from the deep, dark man-cave.  The sound of his voice would echo up through the heating vents.  And there was a certain spot on the stairs, that if I sat there, I could hear every activity in every room of the house.  Even big daddy in the basement.

I would sit there for half an hour or so listening to my father’s voice.  I couldn’t quite hear his words all the time, but the deep tones were comforting.  He has always made me feel completely safe.  Such a gift.

So, I would go find my dad and sit in his lap while he operated his radio station.  We’d listen to news from South America and how horrible the world is.  He’d speak to some truckers–my call name was “Princess.” I cringe now, but at the time the truckers thought I was sweet.

Then at bedtime, I’d lean into the screen window, leaving dusty patterns on my cheeks, and count the trucker-trailers on the overpass, only a stone’s-throw from my house.  Literally a stone’s throw, but I’m not admitting to you how I know that.  The thing I wanted to be the most when I grew up, was a truck driver.  I wanted to travel and to see the world.  And talk on the radio all night.

I’m not a truck driver–and, man,they’d eat me alive–but blogging is so much like amateur radio…anyone out there with their ears on, one, two three?

Big Daddy on the air, are you listening to me, on the satellite radio? 

Does anybody care, are you listening to me, on the satellite radio?

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!  (yes, this is your card.)

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