Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1815663-Radio-Static-Memory
Rated: E · Documentary · Experience · #1815663
A short memory about a vintage radio.
My fascination with antique/vintage radios isn't new to me, just....re-discovered. I think I learned to love music before I was born and it started with my parents, more specifically my father and his love of loud rock music. Both like music, but, none in my household more than me. Then again, I did get it honestly, now didn't I? My love for music has always been there and I hope always will be, for music is like the ghost of a relative that has always been around me in some form or another. Often vague and ever changing but never absent and always certain, a comfort really. Something that has never not been there. There's nothing like the blaring of a song coming through the speakers; the rasp, scream or crooning of the vocals and the sound of hands that force notes from a guitar or a strong and steady beat from drums. It calms my anxiety, my anger, my whatever state of the hour. The sound of music centers me again mind and soul. But that's another subject for another time...

But, I've jumped ahead of myself haven't I? So, let's back peddle for a moment shall we? This is about my discovery of the radio it'self and how I came to appreciate the machine that allows me the benefit of such indulgence. I think I first realized my like for radios and the componets that make it work as a young girl no more than twelve but older than eight. It came from a spring visit to my Granny's home, (my mom's mom for those of you wondering.) ah, yes, candy and pretty empty afternoons of not a care in the world. Entering a back bedroom there it sat, a dark wood encased radio with old fashioned dial face and knobs, beackoning from where it was placed in the corner of the room. I remember staring at it and checking behind me to see if anyone was paying attention to where I had gone and what I may have been doing. Thankfully, no. I just couldn't help myself I walked over and picked it up and found the nearest available electrical outlet and plugged it in and sat on the floor. Ahh, what a glorious sound "It works!" I thought with un abashed glee! The sound of static and the fading in and out of some radio station I didn't care about filtered through. Breaking the stuffy silence.

Excitedly I fiddled with tuning the knobs switching from the AM frequency band to FM and carefully watching the line of the tuning knob as I tried to find a station without static or any otherwise interferrance. I did after much patience and tiny inch like turns of the knob. "The glory, the success, it works!" I could barely hide my sheer happiness but I wasn't so caught up in my joy that I didn't hear the footsteps and voices coming closer so as quickly as I could I unplugged the radio, sat it back in it's place and...left the room, meeting them halfway. They asked me "what have you been getting into now?"

"Nothing. I was going to take a nap." I lied smoothly. They seemed to believe me. I didn't speak a word about the radio and how I'd been messing with it and truth be told I probably shouldn't have been messing with in the first place. But, as I entered the living room and my Granny sitting on her white wicker chair looked at me while smoking her cigarette and simply said; "I knew you'd find that radio sooner or later. It still works because I heard it for the few minutes you were messing with it."

I was scared wondering if I was in trouble and if I could have it, since, it seemed I was the only one who would want it but more importantly listen to it. The answer however was "no". Fast forward two years after that particular memory and my Granny deceased made sure that the radio was given to my father. And where does it sit now, hmmm? In his closet, high in the corner of the top shelf. It's been twelve years now she's been gone and that he's had that radio and he never plays it, it just sits there, in his closet! Teasing me, taunting me everytime I get a glimpse of it. My hands ache, no, itch to get ahold of that machine. But, no. I want it and I can't have it. Hopefully one day it will be mine, but, knowing my luck and the state of my relationship with my father after his passing he'll make sure I don't get my hands on that stupid, awesome, un-used radio.

I still remember the hum and buzz as the radio switched on for the first in God know's how long. The glow of the dial for the AM/FM band station number thingy, the static and his as the knobs are twisted and turned to pick up a station. Such things are what life is made of I suppose, but, I digress.

© Copyright 2011 Revelry new writings soon (revelryssorrow at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1815663-Radio-Static-Memory