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When I was little, I have vivid memories of kneeling in front of my parent’s stereo and rifling through their old records.  Records they bought when they were in high school, college, stationed on a Navy base in California, and young working parents.  I loved opening them up and looking at the pictures and reading the lyrics as I listened to the music spinning.  The Doors, Harry Chapin, Neil Diamond, and, best of all, laughing at the outfits of some of the bands on my mom’s Italian albums.  It was like a psychedelic thrill ride into their past, as young, fun, and carefree teens and twentysomethings always are.

 

I can’t help but think about what my kids will be saying about my music tastes in 10 years.  I have a beat up moving box full of CDs from when I was in high school, and college sitting on a shelf in my basement. I’ve moved it from my home to college, to my first and last apartments in Boston, back to Connecticut to the apartment I shared with my Husband, and, last year I moved it back to Berlin to where we bought our first home.  Part of the reason why I lugged this box all over the greater eastern seaboard was because I wanted my kids to be able to look back at what I listened to when I was their age. Will they think I’m cool? Who knows. Will I be the one to influence their taste in music? Maybe so.  Or perhaps the better question- will they even be able to play a CD in 10 years?! Either way, it’s a part of my past that I’d like to share with them some day, the way my parents shared with me.

 

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