So those beloved music discs have to go. You can put them in storage. Which seems cruel to do to something that you have known and loved for so many years. Or you can take the ultimate step and sell off the valuable ones while giving the rest away. A giant chunk of my Rat Pack records now live in Palm Springs at the home of Peter Gilstrap. I know he loves them dearly. I choose kids and am glad I did. Records won't hug you for no reason. And a box of rare 45s won't take care of you in your later years. No LP comes close to the joy I feel from my kids. Okay maybe Sammy Davis jr.: "Live At The Coconut Grove" of The Replacements "Tim." But no kids are better. Then again records don't need constant attention and will never ask you to clean up their poop. Kids? Or Vinyl? It's a tough decision. But YOU have to choose.
I've made my decision and picked the kids. They provide me with hours of entertainment and love and are more fun to listen to then my old albums. But there are some day when I want to run screaming from them to the comfort of my man cave where I can break out the hidden, drastically reduced record collection I have managed to keep and listen to the sweet crackle of Pre-Dad bliss. I want to. But I don't. Those moments are nothing compared to the love I feel from my two amazing, beautiful kids and that's The Bitter Truth.