My Dad, Meatloaf and me

After 22 years, the retail gods have smiled upon me and yours truly has Saturday’s off from the Salon – a rare occurrence in our industry. At our shop I am needed more from Monday to Friday, as the owner is in the shop every Saturday if a customer service issue should arise. As I was running errands yesterday, the sunshine warming my soul, windows down, a fresh cool breeze blowing my hair out of my face, a song came on the radio that catapulted me back to 1977, Camaro’s, Meatloaf’s Bat out of Hell and memories of my Dad. Those of you familiar with my tales know of my musical references – My love of music comes from my Dad. He would blare Bat out of Hell with the windows down in the Camaro.(for a 7 year old driving past the cute boy’s house…this was a BIG deal).  He would sing along to The Guess Who and Gordon Lightfoot. He would play me chords of his favorite Beatles songs on his guitar. He taught me the difference between Bach and Bachman Turner Overdrive.

I am going to give you all a little glimpse behind the curtain. Who I am today has a lot to do with my Dad. (to the rest of my clan…calm down…love you too…). You see, I was not your typical little girl. Sure, I played with Barbie’s, I would dress them up, have them pretend to go on dates. I would also pretend that they were beating up bullies and would get out my markers and draw a black eye on the receiver of the final blow. I didn’t like wearing dresses…unless it was my birthday or there was a promise of a photo op. (when I was little I firmly believed that a movie director would see me one day and say “finally…we found her”.). I was the kid who beat up the bullies or took down the kid hurting the neighbor hood cats. I was also the kid who slept with 20 stuffed animals (my protector’s from things that go bump in the night) and every so often went to bed wearing my housecoat and slippers in case there was a fire, I was prepared. I loved sports and was known to twirl after I scored a goal or hit a home run. I could go from Rocky Balboa to Dorothy Gale in 3.2 seconds…and my Dad never tried to change that. Ever. Even throughout my turbulent teens, hell, my early adulthood, he always gave me a soft place to fall. My Dad let me be whoever I had to be at the time. He forgave my anger. He let me have my anger without judgement. My Dad gave me the space and the time to find myself…the person he always knew I was, just that I had forgotten.

Whenever I am feeling a little lost, or can’t seem to get past a block in the road, I listen to Meatloaf. Yep. Meatloaf. With my headphones on and the tunes cranked up, unbeknowst to my Dad (until now), I am reminded of who I am. I am that girl who can do anything she wants, be anything she wants and am off like a Bat out of Hell.

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