There's a stereo and a microphone, one of the old mics with two plugs, one shorter than the other.
And there's me, age four or so, and my father age...whatever. And a mic. And Kermit T. Frog singing The Rainbow Connection on the turntable. Testing...testing...one, two, three. S'what I said.
And there's my father being patient. 'No Jackie, look, this is how it works, you hit these two buttons, and you wait a bit and you start, but we need to get Kermit ready. Just hold on, it'll be all set up in a minute.'
My father is the most impatient, rigid, powder keg of a man I've ever met. He also has a bit of a problem with technology - he's one of those people who knows what something should be able to do and couldn't care less about what it actually does. I'm the early adopter of the family - he'd still be using a typewriter if they were in any way maintainable these days.
And yet. Here's my father setting up a tape deck like a pro, checking the balance and making sure the bass doesn't bottom out and talking to his son like an adult, just...quieter.
And then there's me singing along with Kermit, making sweet, sweet love to a microphone easily a decade older than me. And I'm done, and Kermit's done and the strings fade out.
'Ya did good kid.'
...and then, apparently, I grew up.