Radio in the Shop
Some days I walk out to the shop to make something and the music comes on before I even realize I've done it. I'll hit the lights, set my coffee down, and somewhere in that small shuffle the radio's already playing. Other days I don't turn anything on at all. Same shop. Same tools. Same guy. Just a different mood, I guess.
I've never really thought much about why. Dad always had a radio playing out in his shop too. Maybe that's why mine is almost always on. Maybe it's because every now and then the radio does more than just fill the silence.
Every once in a while, an old song comes on and brings back something I hadn't thought about in years. A place. A face. A moment I didn't even realize I'd forgotten.
The other day an old Merle Haggard song came on, and before I knew it I was a little kid again, sitting under the kitchen table.
When I was little, every now and then my dad would have a few friends over. Three or four guys. Somebody would bring a guitar. Somebody else might have another guitar or a little drum. Before long they'd be sitting around the kitchen table, or sometimes in the TV room, playing old country and gospel songs for a couple of hours.
Most of the time I'd crawl under the kitchen table and just listen. Getting there meant weaving around chair legs, guitars, and whatever else was scattered across the floor. Once I was under there, it almost felt like my own little clubhouse. Kind of like the way a kid can turn a cardboard box into the greatest place on earth.
I don't know if the music was actually all that good. I was too young to know the difference. But they sure seemed to enjoy it. I can still picture them smiling at each other between songs. The ash trays sitting on the table with cigarette butts in them. Somebody picking up a guitar again after a story or a laugh.
As far as I was concerned, they were on stage.
It's strange how clearly I can still picture that room. The kitchen cabinets my dad built. The paneling on the walls. The linoleum floor that made it easy to slide around underneath the table.
Before I knew it, I was reaching for the board again. The radio was still playing, and somewhere along the way another song had started. I hadn't even noticed.
Maybe that's why I never give much thought to the radio. Most days it's just there in the background while I work.
But every once in a while, it helps me remember a little piece of my life I didn't know I was missing.
This time, it was a kitchen table, a Merle Haggard song, and a few hours with my dad that I hadn't visited in years.