My father is the biggest Bruce Springsteen fanatic along the Jersey Shore.
Since my 2-year-old son Dylan spends the majority of his time with my parents during the work week, it should come as no surprise that the torch has been passed.
Last Sunday, we headed to Eatontown for some family time at my childhood home, where years of Bruce-related memories are triggered upon pulling into the driveway.
As a teenager, I vividly recall pulling up after school in my silver Mustang. It was a sure bet I would be greeted by the sight and sound of my father sitting in his car blasting “Born to Run” with the seat fully reclined as he tapped his shoeless foot against the dashboard.
A lifelong Jersey Boy himself, my father epitomizes “the simple life.”
He’s not into fancy clothes and usually has a coffee stain or six on his T-shirt.
My dad could exist on hamburgers and French fries from the WindMill in Long Branch or on thin-crust pizza from Pete and Elda’s in Neptune.
Materialistic items mean nothing to him, and he would be forever content as long as his family was happy, and his CD player was loaded with a Springsteen disc.
Like Bruce, my dad is a no-frills kind of guy. Now that he has a grandson, though, he’s bringing out the bells and whistles when it comes to teaching Dylan who’s “Boss.”
I walked into my parents’ living room last weekend as a live performance of “Badlands” blasted through the television speakers.
My father’s not the most organized person, but he keeps his “Darkness on the Edge of Town” box set in pristine condition and fully accessible at all times.
My son squealed, and his eyes lit up as soon as he heard that first beat of the drum.
I released him from my arms, and he stood in front of the brown leather ottoman, bopping his head in perfect pace with the music as my father followed along in a similar fashion.
“Dylan, where’s Brucie?” he asked my son, who happily pointed to the image of a 20-something Springsteen pouring his energy into the microphone, as he continues to do today.
I’ve accomplished a lot in my life — Penn State valedictorian, focused business woman, multi-tasking mother — and my parents have always been the biggest cheerleaders. But the pride in my dad’s eyes as he watched Dylan get lost inside a Bruce song was something very new — and a moment I don’t want to forget.
Tuesday is my birthday, and this past year has been one for the books. From my reclamation of a career I desperately missed to a stressful move, everything’s been flipped upside down and repositioned into a new normal. Just recently have I started to find my groove.
Dylan — with the enthusiastic assistance of his grandfather, aka Pappy — has most certainly found his rhythm in the world of Springsteen.
My father is convinced there’s a spiritual connection between the baby and the Boss. At about five months into my pregnancy, I was walking through the Monmouth Mall and ran into Bruce. He recognized me from an event at the Wonder Bar in Asbury Park, where during which I was on assignment for work. Walking down the mall corridor, he and I exchanged a few words, and Bruce knelt down to pat my belly as I told him he had a future fan rolling around in there.
Since that day, my dad said he would never have to worry about Dylan because he had been blessed by the Boss.
Maybe he’s right.
There’s so much noise infiltrating our world each day. I’m grateful to my father for taking the initiative to make sure Dylan’s little universe is filled with the spirited sounds of Springsteen.