***Finally decided to post this. It was sitting in my draft box for a couple of weeks. ***
I live on the second floor.
I live upstairs from you.
Yes, I think you've seen me before.
It was summer. We were driving to an oil distributor convention and to visit Uncle Willy in Minnesota. I was in high school and in my pre-country music phase. We had just driven through that part of Western Minnesota on the way to Minneapolis where it's hard to find a radio station that wasn't playing country music. My dad who usually preferred gospel or "country western" let me listen to what I wanted as long as it didn't sound too heavy or like "devil music" since we had survived the land of rural music. Luka was one of the most popular songs on the Billboard Hot 100, so it was played at least once an hour on the radio stations. To amuse me, my dad would start singing the phrase "My name is Luka" every time it came up in the song. That is why I think of my dad every time I hear that song.
It's been 20 years since my dad passed away. It's hard to believe, but so much has happened since then. Whenever I hear of someone older die, I have to calculate how many more years they had than my parents. Then I remember that it's the moments that count, not the years.
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