My dad is 72.
I grew up with him playing in bands my entire life, sleeping under tables at pubs as the bass reverberated through my chest.
It was only last year, at the age of 37 that I decided to conduct a series of interviews with him to compile a short biography that I was writing as part of my Professional Writing Advanced Dip.

I laughed so much, I was awestruck… and when I listened to the voice recordings as I transcribed… I cried.

I cried because my dad is 72 now, he still plays in two bands, maintains a huge property in the bushland of Australia and does “handyman” work in his “free hours of the day”… (ok, I think he has adult ADHD, but I’m glad.)

I cried because at the age of 37, I was only learning from him that one of my all-time favourite bands, The Kinks, shared a stage with my dad not just once, not twice… BUT THREE TIMES when his band supported them.

I cried because at the age of 37, I only just learned that my dad played on stage with Eric Clapton and Cream.

I cried because at the age of 37, I heard for the first time that my dad PLAYED Eric Clapton’s “The Fool” guitar one time.

I cried because at the age of 37, I was new to the news that he had met Gene Vincent and had actually spoken to my all-time idol, David Bowie.

But most of all I cried for all the people younger than “his generation” that would never get to hear these stories or one day, hear them through me and NOT. EVEN. UNDERSTAND. THE VELOCUTIDE. OF THE. WORDS.

I wish my dad had spoken to me about all these things before now.

Please write forever.
In 30 years time, when you are ACTUALLY old, those words will have shaped 30 years of readers thoughts, emotions… and possibly lives.