Music and Family

I had originally planned to interview my grandmother for this post, but when I got home, she and my granddad were at the beach—living their best retired life. So, I turned to my mom. I know, I know—every blog post seems to circle back to my mom or grandmother. I promise there are other members of my family, but somehow, these two always end up front and center. Maybe that says something about who really runs the show around here.

Anyway, my mom didn’t hesitate when I asked if she’d talk to me. Music, after all, is something that’s always been woven into the rhythm of our family. As soon as we started talking, memories began spilling out like an old playlist she hadn’t hit shuffle on in a while.

She started by telling me about one of her earliest musical memories—a story about my grandmother. “My mother used to play softball,” she said, smiling at the thought. “Their team would run out to ‘Ring My Bell’ by Anita Ward.” She paused, then laughed softly. “I don’t even know why that song was so impressionable, but it just stuck with me. Maybe it was the rhythm, or maybe it was just hearing her talk about how much fun those moments were.”

It made sense that her first memory of music wasn’t just about sound—it was about connection. The way a song could wrap itself around a moment and make it unforgettable.

When I asked her what role music played in her household growing up, she didn’t even need to think. “Music was everything,” she said. “We used to go Christmas caroling—it didn’t matter if we could sing or not. Music was there when we were sad, during family gatherings, and just everyday life. You know that now—we’re still the same way.”

That’s true. Even in our house today, there’s always music playing somewhere. It’s how we fill silence, how we pray, how we celebrate, how we cope.

As we talked more, the conversation shifted toward how music reflected the world she grew up in. My mom reminded me that the soundtrack of her youth wasn’t just joyful—it was also powerful. “We were a very church-going family,” she said. “So of course, there was a lot of gospel. But when we lived in California, that was around the time groups like N.W.A. were releasing songs like ‘F--- tha Police.’ Those songs really hit because they reflected what was happening—race relations, the Rodney King beating, all of it. Music gave voice to what people were feeling.”

From church pews to protest anthems—music had a purpose. It wasn’t just entertainment; it was truth in rhythm form.

When I asked if her taste in music had changed over time, she smiled and shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “I’ve always loved all kinds of music. My music just adjusts to my mood.” She explained how, before basketball games, she’ll blast club music because it reminds her of her birthplace—Germany. When she’s feeling down, she turns to gospel or something mellow. For peace of mind, it’s jazz or orchestral music. And when the mood strikes for fun, she’ll play country or trailride and dance around. “It just depends on the moment,” she said.

That’s something I’ve always admired about her—how her playlists seem to know exactly what she needs, even when she doesn’t.

When we talked about how her background influenced her taste, she reflected on her upbringing as a military brat. “The schools were really diverse,” she said. “We were surrounded by people from all kinds of backgrounds, and that introduced me to different kinds of music. It opened me up to everything.”

By the end of our conversation, I realized that my mom’s relationship with music mirrors the way she moves through life—with openness, rhythm, and a deep appreciation for connection. Music isn’t just something our family listens to—it’s how we express love, joy, and even pain.

And maybe it’s fitting that my grandmother was at the beach that day. Because if she’d been home, I might not have had this conversation with my mom, and I might not have realized how much of who we are as a family can be traced back to the songs that have carried us through.