The little guy in the radio

Music helps feel the emotions that are hard to share. On the happier days, my dad would play his records Grease and Baker Street loudly while I spinned in circles until I fell down. During the hard days, I would cry myself to sleep to Duran Duran’s Arena album. Mom cried to every Christian song that touched her soul. Mark was having a rough day when you could hear the chains rattle on his Black Sabbath album. With the exception of my dad, we all played musical instruments. 

Matt seemed particularly fixated on music as well. He would rewind his tapes and play the same song or same section of a song over and over. He believed that taping songs off the radio station would make it go off the air. He would get really upset to hear dead air after taping. He also believed that the radio station could hear him and they were angry with him for taping. 

Matt would sneak into my room and take my tapes. Worse yet, he would take my boomboxes. He took tools and disassembled a half a dozen of my boomboxes until they were in small pieces. Maybe he was trying to find the little guy in the radio. My dad was an electronic technician so it was not unusual to have radios or VCR’s disassembled on the table. I was so sad that my dad couldn’t fix my radios after Matt got ahold of them. Music was the only way I could process my raw feelings. 

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