We, meaning my mom, dad, sister, grandma and I, had just piled into the van after my high school graduation. My dad turned the key, to begin the slow procession out of the pandemonium of the highschool parking lot. This was the song playing on KYA, the only FM music station my dad ever listened to. Hundreds of kids danced around and screamed outside in the heat of the summer’s night. My dad turned up the volume and left van in park. We just sat and listened.
It’s one of the few times I felt like I knew my dad.