Narrative written about a "happy memory", 8/13/07
Grandpa and Lyla came to visit us the summer I was 16, and Grandpa had to be taken to dialysis while he was there. One day, my mom and dad were going golfing, so they asked me to pick him up from the dialysis center. The clinic was in Gaylord, about 45 minutes away from our house. When I got there, he was still receiving treatment, so I waited with him and we talked. I also spoke with the nurse who told me that I would have to help him to the car and he would be very tired.
When I turned the car on, the CD I had been listening to, “White Blood Cells” by the White Stripes, blasted through the speakers. The White Stripes are a two-person experimental rock band for those who don’t know. We didn’t speak at first, and I assumed grandpa was tired so I didn’t push conversation and enjoyed the music.
All of a sudden grandpa pipes up. “Humph…this isn’t music,” he said. “This crap you kids listen to now a days, this isn’t music, it’s just noise.” Even though he had just insulted one of my favorite bands, I couldn’t help but laugh. I began explaining my point of view on why I thought the band was good and their music was as much an art as jazz. For the rest of the ride home we got into a jovial if slightly heated discussion about what makes music music. We both forgot about dialysis and just focused on the joy of talking to one another and the scenic hills of northern Michigan.