After my dad died, I received a large cardboard box filled with his music. Reels, tapes, CDs, lyric books, all of it. His whole life and legacy fit in a cardboard box. But it was him, his story and his voice, singing the songs that carried him through life.
I started listening to the recordings of him writing new songs, the TV on low in the background, unscripted moments that likely pulled from whatever he was living through that day. Something about the lo fi, unscripted nature of it made me feel like I was in the room, a fly on the wall of my family’s past.
Then one day, a song called Second Hand came on. I’d never heard it before, but somehow it was familiar. My mom was known in our family as an avid second hand shopper, so the title caught me. I listened to the lyrics and they fit... I went to his lyric books and found it was written during the years they were together.
The lyrics say she never lets him down, that she never makes him feel second hand. He’s singing about feeling unseen out in the world, then coming home to a woman who made him feel like he mattered. In that moment, sitting with a song I never knew existed, about two people I thought I already knew everything about, I felt like I’d stumbled onto gold. I felt rich.
