Mo L.

I am here, listening to an old forgotten memory. Of a man that raised ships, traced one more line and an idiot I suppose. To most that I tell my musical preference, I tell them I was raised  on drunken sailor  songs. I don't think that is the case anymore. Stan Rogers is one of the artist that my dad listen to on long car rides and I would sit next to him as we traveled to where ever and sing along to these songs. I would be mad. I was a young girl so I could not sing the low bass notes that would be woven into the song, and dad would be able to whenever he pleased.

As I'm listening to this I think back to all the times my young self would asked questions. Dad, whats the Northwest Passage? He would explain it to me. Little did I know, but it made me excel in all history classes I would take involving exploration. The teacher would look dumbfounded and ask where I learned that. I would mumble my dad. It embarrassed me. Mostly when I moved to Kentucky. Most of the people would only know of the sea from the Florida coast. I knew it with a passion because thats where I grew up. It was always around me.  I do not know why I was so ashamed to admit that I did not listen to Britney Spears, The Backstreet Boys or N sync like all of my other classmates. I had the folk bug. Thats what my parents had raised me on all my life.

So when I started to listen to music at my own accord it felt like a barrier with my parents, it  was also the first part of becoming a teenager I guess. I found some bands that my parents and I could both listen to but it was never the same as those artist I had been raised on. Damn...where were these thoughts when I had to write reflective pieces for English?