YES, I KNOW that rolling up to my son’s school blasting Metallica’s “Enter Sandman,” is a vibe that may not sit right with other parents and teachers. Yes, Dreams of war, dreams of liars / Dreams of dragon’s fire is straight nightmare fuel. And, yes, this isn’t high school, but an elementary school drop-off line I’m idling in. But this is Metallica we’re talking about here—and the title track/lead single off 1991’s now-legendary self-titled album, more commonly called The Black Album.
It’s “Enter Sandman” today because of a conversation he and I had about MLB walk-up songs. I’m explaining to my son, who is seven, perched in his booster seat, that Yankee Stadium used to explode with excitement when the song announced closing pitcher Mariano Rivera was ready to take the mound. But my son’s brain is elsewhere. “Dad? Can you really sleep with one eye open?” he shouts over Kirk Hammett’s guitar.
“I don’t think so?” I shout back. Then: We’re off to never-never land!
I wish I could tell you that I then tire-squeal out of the parking lot, throwing a “rock on!” sign out the window, but instead I turn inward. Parenting often plays this odd trick on me where I’ll think of my son at his age and then I’m transported back to where I was that age.
Where I was in Miami, growing up with friends and family and jukeboxes. I’m Cuban-American and was raised speaking English and Spanish, but music always felt like another language entirely. Rock. Reggae. Hip-hop. Salsa. In diners, pizzerias, and arcades—if I spotted a jukebox anywhere I was begging someone for a quarter and making a beeline for that glowing treasure chest of gleaming 45’s.
One summer my friend’s dad even bought a jukebox. I still remember walking into their garage and in the corner, there it was, plugged in and ablaze with light. A bank of quarters in the back meant we didn’t even have to pay. That jukebox was the first place I heard Bill Haley and the Comets swing through “Rock Around the Clock,” Sam and Dave belt out “Soul Man” and The Beach Boys bop along to “Barbara’ann.”
My own dad loved music, too. I have crystal-clear memories of him and I deep dropping for red snapper listening to CCR on the radio. Or the station wagon family road trip to Disney World barely tolerating Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias’ torturous rendition of “To All the Girls I Loved Before.” My dad would talk to me as we listened, too, the music as conversation starter, especially when it came to Cuban music. He’d talk about the artist, about his life growing up in Cuba, about his dad. I guess that’s partially how me and my son’s morning drives with Siri as our jukebox started.
Then suddenly—whoosh—I’m back in the driver’s seat, age 45 again, my son asking me “What was your favorite song in kindergarten?”
“I don’t know for sure. I can’t remember. But I know I loved ‘Rockin’ Robin’ when I was really little,” I tell him. “Hey Siri play ‘Rockin’ Robin’ by Bobby Day.”
And there it is, the sheer joy of the song’s opening Tweedle-lee-dee-dee-dee. Spotify then auto-selects Elvis’ “Hound Dog.”
“Hound Dog by Elvis,” I say. “He was the King of Rock and Roll.”
“Do you like it?,” I ask
“Do you?” my son asks.
“I do. I think Elvis is cool,” I reply.
“Me too, Dad.”
My son doesn’t know it now, but one day he’ll be somewhere and a song will play and he’ll remember. Him. Me. The music.
Tom Llamas is the anchor of Top Story with Tom Llamas on NBC News NOW weekdays at 7 pm ET and an NBC News senior national correspondent, Llamas will co-anchor NBC News’ special 2024 Presidential Election coverage November 5 on NBC, NBC News NOW, and NBCNews.com. He lives in New York with his wife and three children.
