BEFORE THE DAYS that I discovered the Hanson brothers (who still occupy a large space of my heart) and Spice Girls (who encouraged me to “Spice up my life”) I was kept company by the heterogenous sounds of my parents’ musical choices, the bebop and bliss that rolled through the speakers of our 90’s boombox.
These were good times — pleasant, happy, zestful with the thrills of dizzying through the living room or laying breathless on the floor. Our dance was usually exhausting, and it is now occurring that my mother might have planned it that way. Other times the music was tranquilizing, like John Denver coming from Dad’s tape player.
Nostalgia to my ears.
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