“What are you singing?”

my dad asked.

It was 1974 and I had just bought with my-hard-earned-Ponderosa-Restaurant money, Elton John’s album, Caribou, which contained his very popular hit “The Bitch is Back!”.

That evening while cleaning the kitchen of our family home, I was singing...

not at the top of my lungs, mind you…

just a nice little “The bitch, the bitch, the bitch is back….”

As soon as he asked the question, I knew I was in trouble.

“Ahh...it is an Elton John song from his new album I just bought.” I sheepishly responded.

“Go get it.”

Three little words were all he said and I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

I had already witnessed the smashing via sledge hammer on the back concrete stoop, of my older sister Vicki’s, Cheech & Chong 8 track tape, that Pops declared to have been made by “a couple of pot smoking hippies!” (which is absolutely true, but they were hysterically funny!).

I reluctantly handed over the album and as my dad was removing the shiny black record from its cover, he told me to get a...

nail.

He then proceeded to scratch the CRAP out of Side One, Song Number One...

thus making “The Bitch is Back” unplayable.

He gave it to me, telling me not to bring that kind of music into our house again.

to my room in tears it did send