Tape

When I was young my father pulled out his old reel-to-reel player from the attic. It was a purchase from his days in Vietnam and I would spin his old reels of Credence Clearwater Revival, Johnny Cash, The Rolling Stones, The Animals, Blood Sweat and Tears, etc. Most reel boxes were unlabeled but I put them on and received my education from an untitled class.

When my father passed away, I received the player and box of reels. The left speaker had gone out but everything else was in great condition. I sat in my shed one evening and played reels until the walls turned light blue, the red braided cord rug was under my feet, the large white headphones were strapped to my head and the reel box was placed on the chest of my jammies. The same sounds coming with pops and scratches played from orbiting satellites of otherworldly radio.

Last week I received more items from my mother. Ball glove, old toys and four new untitled reel boxes. I sat on them for a few days and was about to pitch the reels when I decided to glance in the top one. The other three were unmarked, but the top one made me sit down. A folded legal sheet of paper on top and my father’s handwriting started to make pieces of my story come together.

Apparently a generation of cassette mix tape makers was preceded by a small cult of mix reel makers. Perhaps it’s a gene and not an idea after all.

I can’t talk to my dad today, but I can listen to his heart.

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