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Music, At Its Essence

Decent Essays
Music, at its essence, is what gives us memories. And the longer a song has existed in our lives, the more memories we have of it. ~Stevie Wonder
My ears rang as I leaned my head against the chilly car window. My euphoric gaze followed the amber glow of street lights as my family’s car crawled down the highway, headed back to my grandfather’s house in Lorren D Heights. My parents sang along to the CD in the stereo system, just as they hadn’t heard the same song minutes before. They sang off-key as they held hands over the console and my father looked back at me and offered a smile.
“Some days I feel tangerine, some days I feel blue. Some days I just want to block out the thing
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My mother and I had already attempted to go inside and use the facilities, only to be turned around by security. Excited was not even the word to describe my emotions at that moment, I was finally about to see the creator of the music that I was singing before I could say my ABC’s in order.
I had already been to one Prince concert, but I don’t think it really counted because I was still just a bun in the oven. My parents loved to tell me about that night, how my mother, 8 months pregnant with me, waddled onto stage as he sang “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World”. It was a long running joke in my family that I got so excited when he touched her belly that I wouldn’t be still for three days and was born the next week.
After about an hour of waiting in line, I began to become curious. What did he look like? Was he nice? What was his favorite cereal? I was sure to bombard my dad with these questions, along with a few others. He seemed to know everything there is to know about this artist and he answered with an understanding patience, “He’s very short baby girl, not much taller than Mommy. He’s nice if you’re nice to him. He likes Captain Crunch, remember?”
I nodded, highly satisfied and noticed that the line was moving quickly now and before long, I was inside the arena. Surrounded by such cacophony, my seven year old brain became overwhelmed as a clung to my father’s leg. Once we got settled into our seats, my mother and I
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