One time, when I had only a couple of boys, my mom was babysitting for me. After trading cars with my mom, I was headed to Columbia for a summer workshop to learn more about how to help struggling readers. It was about an hour and a half drive from where we had met to exchange cars to where the workshop was being held.
My mom's car was a '96 Grand Prix. It was all I needed, fast, comfortable, and equipped with a 12 CD changer in the trunk. The Jukebox had been installed by my step-brother, the original owner of the car. The car was red.
I was cruising. We had cut it a little close on time because I had chatted with my mom a little too much.
As I made my way south of Macon, Alan Jackson crooned, "Midnight in Montgomery". It brought back memories of summers when I was younger.
Suddenly, the slamming drums and hard synthesized guitars of Muse in "Supermassive Black Hole" blare through the speakers disrupting my reverie and causing some long blinks to reorient myself. "That was abrupt," I think. It's a jazzy tune, and I find myself nodding my head to the beat. I hit repeat a couple of times.
Next up, a classic John Denver tune that I don't know the name of. It was brutal. Then, relief from the vocals of Michael Buble, "It's A Beautiful Day".
It went on like this with music from every genre but rap. As I pulled into the venue of the workshop, I couldn't help but smile. The randomness, the eclectic nature of my mom's music collection, it made me so happy. I talked about it the rest of the day.