Right now, as I’m struggling to draft the first serious essay of my freshman year, I’m mooching off my dad's Spotify account and tapping away at the base of my keyboard. But, as the same man who granted me this privilege loves to tell me, there was a time when streaming wasn’t about music or videos, but fish and airplanes. Of course, like any shut-in, I’ll try my best to pretend to listen to his lecture about how some day, I’ll need to ‘go outside’ and ‘take a break’, until he finally leaves. But despite my parents’ good-natured disapproval, I’ve learned to appreciate our differences and the way we go about our lives.
I know now, looking back on my childhood, I was always kind of defiant of my parent’s expectations, whether or not I was upsetting them on purpose. I remember one time when I was 2 or 3 or 5 or 6, my mother discovered a dusty old set of cassette tapes and placed them ever so gently in little piles along the shelf above our TV. She arranged them by color and labeled them according to their content. White meant lullabies, green meant folk, and red was for the …show more content…
But, while she was away, the tape stopped playing, or just took too long to move to the next song. Not knowing any better, I ejected the tape and snatched the cassette out of its slot to figure out what was going on. In my inspection of the cassette, I managed to pull a small loop of tape out of the box. Suddenly believing that ‘cleaning’ the tape might help it run more smoothly, I ran it through a fold in my shirt, polishing,it like I had seen my father do with his spectacles. However, in the process, I had managed to pull out a fair portion of the tape, leaving it streaming and tangled by my feet. As I finally realized my grave mistake, I heard, from my black nest, the muffled swoosh of tapestries coming from the
I know now, looking back on my childhood, I was always kind of defiant of my parent’s expectations, whether or not I was upsetting them on purpose. I remember one time when I was 2 or 3 or 5 or 6, my mother discovered a dusty old set of cassette tapes and placed them ever so gently in little piles along the shelf above our TV. She arranged them by color and labeled them according to their content. White meant lullabies, green meant folk, and red was for the …show more content…
But, while she was away, the tape stopped playing, or just took too long to move to the next song. Not knowing any better, I ejected the tape and snatched the cassette out of its slot to figure out what was going on. In my inspection of the cassette, I managed to pull a small loop of tape out of the box. Suddenly believing that ‘cleaning’ the tape might help it run more smoothly, I ran it through a fold in my shirt, polishing,it like I had seen my father do with his spectacles. However, in the process, I had managed to pull out a fair portion of the tape, leaving it streaming and tangled by my feet. As I finally realized my grave mistake, I heard, from my black nest, the muffled swoosh of tapestries coming from the