My Old Friend

Music. It joins, binds, and seperates us. In my first memories there is music. It starts with my parents and I singing the A,B,C's on the sidewalks of New York. It then moves to driving home in my dad's Land Rover blasting the country radio station, the first set of numbers I memorized that wasn't either an address or phone number. I still remember the first song  I memorized. My dad still loves the song 'My Old Friend' by Tim McGraw. That was, for the longest time, 'my song'. It has changed over the years. But the words 'My old friend, I recall the times we had are hanging on my wall, I wouldn't trade them for gold. Cause they laugh and they cry they somehow sanctify. And they're woven in the stories I have told...' still bring back memories. I used to constantly ask my dad what that verse meant and he told me that the memories on the wall were trophies. Being raised in a hunting household where stories about trophy deer were what rocked me to sleep at night, I caught on and figured out that he meant animal heads from hunting trips. This realization has made me understand my dad's relationship with his hunting buddies. They are his 'old friends.'