I've told this story before.

My Dad and I shared a deep love of music. We also agreed to disagree on what kind of music we liked. He leaned towards Sinatra and I was big on the Eagles and Stones and Led Zeppelin. Thus we started a friendly game of "Your music sucks." "No, your music sucks." Even though we actually shared a love of many songs, ala Simon and Garfunkle, Judy Collins, Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass, etc.

One summer afternoon when I was home in Winnetka, Illinois from Santa Barbara, I played the Eagles "Seven Bridges Road" on our stereo.

Now, as a backdrop, my dad was an absolute great harmony singer. He had an amazing tenor voice and sang in the church choir and was demanded to sing at all cocktail parties. So he loved barbershop quartets. ("Lida Rose" on "The Music Man" was one of his favorites and he could sing along with it flawlessly) 

My Dad was walking past the living room when the harmonies hit on "Seven Bridges Road" and he stopped dead in his tracks;

"Who is this?"

Like a pitcher who knew a batter had no chance to catch up to his fastball, I casually wound up and delivered;

"It's the Eagles." 

My Dad was a guy who was not easily impressed, but as he stood there listening, he was stunned.

"No it isn't." 

"Yes it is." 

Without saying another word, we just listened to the song and then, when it was over, he just walked away. 

A few years later, my Dad passed away. When they came to pick up his company car, I went to clean it out. In the glove compartment were cassettes. Among them, besides Frank Sinatra? "Eagles Live" - with "Seven Bridges Road" - and "Eagles Greatest Hits" and "Hotel California." 

Now I live a few miles from the actual Seven Bridges Road in San Diego. My Dad would have liked to know that.

Have a great Easter. And give your parents a smooch if you can.