Rhythm Reader: Dusty Vinyls

When I was younger I used to sneak up into my grandparent's attic to where they kept the old records. Next to the old wobbly bookcase was a wooden crate that held all of my grandparent's favorite songs. I would sit up in that attic listening to the records and the stories those songs told until I could hear my parents downstairs start questioning where I was--prompting my reluctant return.

When I was younger my parents never let me listen to music. It wasn't until my fifteenth birthday that I discovered why.

"Well let the girl open her present!" said my grandmother.

When I ripped off the wrapping paper my thrilled expression did not match that of my parents.

"What were you thinking!" shouted my mother. "You know we don't let her listen to music!"

"Well you should, she has the right to know her abilities!" my grandmother snapped back.

This comment didn't strike me as odd as it should have because I was too fascinated with my new CD player. Excitedly, I hit play. That's when it happened.