NOTE: This is all informal rambling, but it would be amazing if I actually took this material and worked it into something better.
Let me begin with a disclaimer: memory is not my strong suit. That isn't to say I lack memories as vivid as anyone else's. I simply tend to invest my memory in arbitrary fragments and incidents, the greater context of which often escaping me.
From before I ever considered my age, I remember my parents' obsession with the blues guitarist, Stevie Ray Vaughn. Long before the suburban scrapbooking pandemic, my mother stuffed her Stevie Ray Vaughn
concert tickets and promotional materials alongside photos of my and my brother's births. My dad still has a mildly disturbing framed photo of himself posing in front of Stevie's grave. Then, I remember my sister's love for what my dad called "n*****" music, which always astounded me because - right after Stevie Ray Vaughn - my dad adored Jimi Hendrix