Compact Discs
Dear Dad,
We gave away most of your cds. Mom wrote these beautiful Facebook posts about you. She noted how you still played cds and your friend John Tormey said he still loved cds. And shortly thereafter, he made two trips to pick most of them up. We put aside a bunch for Karen, and Gary walked away with your Bach collection.
You loved music in so many ways. You used to take me and Pat to Tower Records on Saturdays. You told us we could buy anything we wanted. I remember picking out my 5th or 6th cd of our shopping trip and saying, “can I get these too?”!” And you said “if you will listen to them, get them.” I was so blown away that you would let us buy as many as we wanted.
When I moved to the city, you took all of my CDs. I didn’t need them anymore. And you listened to every single one of them. You listened to 2gether, Aaliyah, Beastie Boys, Monica, Everclear. Every. Single. One. Then, you would call me and tell me what you thought of them. Every. Single. One.
When Sung and I were moving in together, he found a book of about 200 CDs. I surprised you at your office one morning before work and handed you the book of CDs. I thought you would like them, say thank you, and bid me adieu so I could get to work. You opened the cd book and proceeded to flip through every page. Every. Single. Page. You offered several thoughts on the CDs, showing excitement for some, laughters for others, and curiosity into Sung’s varied music taste. I think it took about 30 minutes for you to finish flipping through the book. I was probably late for work, but it was worth it. Later that day, I told Sung that he would never be able to give my Dad as good a gift as that one. I was right.
At my 30th birthday party, you met my friends Ray & Brian. They mentioned how they still have CDs and records in a storage unit on 23rd street. They wanted to get rid of the unit. And 6 weeks later, you and Mom drove to Manhattan and we all met up at the storage unit so you could take all of their cds and records. And you took them all. Every. Single. One.
When I moved to Manhattan, we rented an SUV. You went to pop a CD in, but a CD popped out. The renter before us left a CD in the player. And it was a MIX TAPE! We listened to the whole thing, waiting with bated breath as the song switched over. The 50 minute car ride brought us so much joy. I cannot think of a better way for you to take me into that next phase of adulthood but with a fun mix CD that wasn’t ours.
What overwhelms me now is how many memories I have that are just related to CDs. I haven’t even talked about concerts. All of these memories are happy ones, but it means that every song that plays could be a moment to take me back to you.
So Dad, we gave away all of your CDs. We kept Broadway and Christmas for the holidays. And I kept the Capitol Records collection because I always asked you to play those at Christmas. Everything else is gone. I got SO MANY STEPS carrying them out to the driveway. Every time John Tormey has a great moment with one of your CDs, he reaches out to Mom to tell her a story. Dad, he’s doing exactly what you would have done. We knew you wanted those CDs to be loved the way you loved CDs. The joy it brings to John brings us an equal amount of joy. We paid it forward.
Looking at your empty CD closet brings me to my knees sometimes. But if you magically reappeared and yelled at me because your CDs were gone, at least I could say “Don’t worry Dad. They are with your friend John. He loves them. I even gave him the CD racks they came in.”
