I believe in the power of music. No matter what kind of mood I’m in, or what kind of day I have had nothing makes me feel better than turning up my radio as loud as I can. There is nothing more satisfying after a long day than blasting a great song and singing it at the top of my lungs. I am constantly listening to music; from the moment my alarm clock goes off, my radio goes on. While I am getting dressed to go out, while I fold laundry, do my homework, read a book, you can bet that I have my ipod on me. From the time I was a little girl, music has surrounded me. When my parents used to tuck me in at night, there was no way I could sleep until my dad played me a song on his guitar.
Music offers me a sense of familiarity. I can turn on the radio and listen to a song and recall exactly where I was the first time I heard it. I can pull out a CD with songs I haven’t heard in years and miraculously remember all of the words. When I was around eight, my dad attempted to teach me how to play the drums. (Unfortunately for me, I have the rhythm and coordination of a drunkard and never mastered the instrument.) I can remember sitting in his music room, playing the one pattern I knew, while he played the guitar. I sat there in awe of him, amazed that he could make such a beautiful sound from an oddly shaped wooden box with six strings.
I guess I can say my passion for music comes from him. We often share our CD’s and talk about how music today doesn’t compare to music from thirty-five years ago. Our ipod’s have almost three thousand songs each, and we often joke about how much more we could possibly add, which happens to be a lot!
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