Introducing you to alternative bands and rap groups is largely a failing endeavor. Gorillaz. Broken Bells. Jogger. Wu-Tang Clan. None of these calm or capture your interest. Your dad reaches into his mental crates and sings "Lucky Star," or "Sledgehammer," or "In the Air Tonight." Rarely does anything work to the extent that your dad can say, "Yes, Madonna works," or "Peter Gabriel works," or Phil Collins. Guess you had to be there for Phil Collins.
But you're never happier than when you mom and dad sing together in church. Your dad's faulty baritone coupled with your mom singing harmony in alto. They sing that they'll live for all their days to raise a banner of truth and light. Then sing about trading their sorrows, trading their shame, laying them down. And you sing back in a bubbly coo or with a grinning outburst.
So, despite your dad's inadvertent efforts to secularize your musical tastes, for whatever reason, God works.
