The Ordinary Impact

My dad died in 2024.  And the more I look back, the easier it is to name the things I wish had been different:  The words I needed. The warmth I wanted. The ways I tell myself I’ll do better.  It’s something we do too often—not just with our parents, but with people in general.  We point out the things that weren’t:  The words we didn’t hear. The moments we didn’t get. The love that didn’t look how we hoped.  It’s easy to name the absence.  Harder—but more honest—is choosing to remember what was . Because what was —was his presence.  He came home from work. Every day. Dinner at the table. TV in the living room. Not always deep conversation. Not always praise or tenderness.  But he was there. And that presence—that rhythm of just being —formed something steady in me. I’ve come to believe that some of the most important things a father gives you are the things he never says out loud.  Not always through grand gestures—but in the ordinary...

 This past week, two giants of music left the stage— Sly Stone of Sly and the Family Stone and Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys . They came from very different corners of the musical world. Sly gave us rhythm that moved like rebellion—funk, soul, and psychedelic fusion that didn’t just break the mold, it lit it on fire. Brian gave us harmony that floated—soft yet searching, surf-pop soaked in longing and layered with genius.  But what they shared was something even more powerful: they changed how people felt. And they did it in ways that lasted. Sly made music that didn’t wait for permission. He mixed Black and white, funk and rock, gospel and groove—and he made it all work in one band, on one stage, in one sound. “Everyday People” wasn’t just a hit; it was a mirror. A reminder that the things that divide us don’t have to define us.  His music wasn’t afraid to sweat or shout. It was bold, messy, magnetic—and always human. He made you move and made you think. Sometimes ...