Becoming my father

Dad would turn down the radio whenever he started the car. It didn’t matter what the station was. It didn’t matter how loud it was—or wasn’t. He would turn it down. Of course, he’d eventually reach the point where, click, he turned it all the way off. He would claim one of us kids had turned it up, even though it might’ve been days, weeks, since we last rode with him. He still did it after the nest was empty and we weren’t around to blame. He did it even after Mom had passed on and almost no one ever rode with him. The habit was that deeply ingrained. It was part of the routine, like insert the key, depress the clutch, put it in neutral, apply the brakes, turn the key, turn down the radio, put it in gear, release the clutch, go. One time I caught him trying to turn down the radio when it was already off.

Well, lately, I’ve startled myself several times when starting the Rolling Steel Tent. BAMMA-WADDA-WAH-WAH-GA-BAMMA-WAMMA-WEEE-EEE-EEEEEE!!! Whoa, the radio is loud! I thought I had turned it down when I pulled into the dispersed camping area, so as not to annoy my fellow boondockers. As much. Yup, the volume was at 14 instead of the usual 23. And yet, it felt like it was on 50 (even though the volume doesn’t go that high).

Is this going to be a thing now? Am I going to be one of those “Turn down that racket” guys? What a depressing thought. Next thing you know I'll be turning off the radio so I can read the GPS. Oh wait, I already do that.