Hey everyone, I’ve never done anything like this before, but I felt compelled to share something deeply personal today. It’s about an old, half-forgotten song that changed the way I see myself, and I hope that by putting this out there, it might resonate with someone else, too.
I guess I should start from the beginning — with the box of vinyl records I found in my parents’ attic last month. My mom had asked me to clean out some of my old things they’d been storing for years. Among the dusty yearbooks and faded concert tickets, was a box labeled ‘Dad’s Oldies’. I almost left it behind, but something stopped me.
Later that evening, alone in my apartment, I decided to go through the box. Most of the records were familiar — Simon & Garfunkel, The Beatles, and some classic rock staples. But there was one album I didn’t recognize, its cover faded, the title scrawled in handwriting that wasn’t my father’s. Curious, I placed it on the turntable.
The needle dropped, and the room filled with a melody both foreign and eerily familiar. A few notes in, and I felt a chill run down my spine. It was a song I’d never heard before, yet it stirred something deep within me — a feeling I couldn’t quite place. As I listened, tears began to spill, unbidden down my cheeks, and I was left confused and emotionally raw.
The next day at breakfast, with the memory of the song still haunting me, I asked my mom about it. **”Do you know anything about this record, Mom?”** I showed her the cover. She went silent, her expression a mix of surprise and something else I couldn’t read.
**”You found this in dad’s things?”** she asked, her voice caught somewhere between nostalgia and a secret. **”I haven’t seen this in years.”**
“I don’t remember him playing it,” I admitted.
She sighed softly. **”That’s because it was our lullaby for you,”** she said. **”When you were a baby, your father would play it every night.”**
Her words hit me like a tidal wave. The song wasn’t just pressing on some vague childhood memory; it was imprinted in the very fibers of my being. My mom continued, **”When he was stressed, or worried, or even when you were just being fussy, he’d put this on, and it worked magic every time.”**
Suddenly, everything shifted. I realized this wasn’t just a song I’d stumbled upon—it was a piece of my history, a fragment of my father’s love. The revelation was almost too much to bear. My father, whom I’d always remembered as stern and distant, had once been a different man, a gentle one.
That evening, I sat with the album spinning once more, allowing myself to fully embrace this lost memory, feeling my father in the music. In those melodies, I found solace, and through them, I started to forgive him for his later years of silence.
It’s strange how something so small—a song—can hold such weight. It’s as if I discovered a missing part of myself, a piece that was always there but hidden beneath layers of forgetfulness and time.
I’ve listened to it every night since. Each play is a meditation, a tribute to the unconditional love that once enveloped me. It’s a connection to my past and a point of departure for my future.
I know it sounds cliché, but sometimes it’s the small things that have the power to change everything. For me, it was a song—a simple lullaby that taught me to see the whole of my story and not just the difficult parts.
Thank you for reading my story. If this resonates with anyone, or if you have similar stories about discoveries that changed your perspective, I’d love to hear them.