During my younger years, many women would come round to my father’s house to sit and listen to his record collection. It would fascinate me how they would be almost perfectly still for hours on end. At the end, my father would take them by the hand and lead them upstairs where they could thank him – often loudly and profusely – before disappearing out the door with a distant smile on their faces.
When I went off to college, my father gave me his record player. It was an odd gift but he said it gave him much enjoyment and he was sure I’d make good use of it.
At first, I was uncertain what to make of it. Money was usually the best gift to give a new student, but an LP player? Nevertheless, off it went with me. I’d play it night and day with various records, and after the first week, a lovely woman knocked on my door saying that she could hear my music and asked if she could listen to it some more. I’ll never forget the face of my future wife, dazed and glassy eyed as I escorted her in. Afterwards, I found that she too was frantic about thanking me, practically jumping on top of me in the middle of my dorm room for the first time of many.