The little things are gone

Monday morning. I take a sip from my coffee and yell at my dear brother that I’ll wait for him in the car. It’s 6:55.

As I warm up the car, which is covered in frost from the June-gloom mornings that somehow still exist in October, I tune into my favorite radio stations: 93.1 Jack FM, 106.7, 98.7 and 100.3 The Sound.

Of course, the modern rock stations, 106.7 and 98.7, hardly ever play music and are usually overrun by ads and radio show hosts. In my aggravated morning state, I aggressively push the channel button.

Ah, yes. 100.3 is playing Boston again. No annoying radio show hosts. My brother gets in the car and I hum along to “Rock N’ Roll Band” as I cruise down Borchard road. The sun always gets in my eyes but you know what? It doesn’t matter. When I find myself in times of trouble, the sweet guitar of classic rock comes to me. The little things in my morning brighten up the dreary, way-too-early Monday. I get to school on-time, perky and ready to get started.

Except this particular Monday I find out that the Boston anthem will no longer be a part of my monotonous morning of driving to school.

My beloved station, The Sound, is being bought out by the Educational Media Foundation, meaning 100.3 will now be a Christian music station. Instead of the dad-rock classics that add just a taste of culture to my boring suburban morning, now I will be stuck with the four-chord torture that is Christian music. Praise be to thee, megachurch giants!

There’s nothing satisfying about four chords. And hey, nothing wrong with wanting to sing out your faith, but to replace Boston, Led Zeppelin and all my favorites is beyond unacceptable. This is a tragedy. A part of my life that I will never be able to get back.

“But there’s Jack FM!” they tell me. It is no use. Jack FM has radio show hosts. It will never be as perfect, as reliable as The Sound.

There is nothing as unimportantly frustrating as Monday morning. There is nothing as miniscule, as irrelevant as sitting in the car, driving your younger brother to high school. When it is time to complain, to wallow in self-pity, we have to sit down and think “well at least I have this.”

The little things get you through the morning. The sun may be in your eyes, but you have to just slip on some heart-shaped sunglasses and listen to some Fleetwood Mac. You may have gone to sleep at 1:30 a.m., but look at you! Driving down Borchard road with 15 minutes to spare.

If it had only been any other Monday, maybe I’d appreciate my radio station while I still had it. I took it for granted, like “Bob’s Burgers” being on Netflix. In the words of the great singer-songwriter Joni Mitchell, “you don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone. They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.”

“It’s the little things!” they tell you. They’re so right.

The Sound was my little thing. It is gone.

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