I finally know my favorite song.

First 45 - Hey Jude.  My mom almost nipped that when she overheard me asking my dad to bring it home to me. She thought I'd said I wanted a record named "Hate You".   First album - Tapestry (but you already knew that).   I'd been cutting my teeth on AM radio for years, even building one from a crystal set with my dad.  The favored feature on my clock radio - you know it wasn't the alarm - was the sleep timer, which I always set to the max to ensure subconscious programming.  I was a WKY devotee, no KOMA for me - too many letters and no Danny Williams.  It was from this box of white plastic that I learned about the loss of Jim Croce, listened to Muhammad Ali knock everyone out and cheered as the Oklahoma Sooners defeated that other red team, the Nebraska Cornhuskers.  My record collection grew every Saturday when new releases and my allowance aligned.   I hit the jackpot when I inherited a hand-me-down Hi-Fi, whose only downside was to have an excellent bass tone, prompting my parents to change my name to "Turn Down That Bass Kimberly".

Quite possibly,  my relationship with the 8-track player in my first car  is far more memorable than the best (and worst) boys, drama ridden girlfriends,  and teachers' attempts to teach me something I didn't already know.  What I wouldn't give to shove that hot pink Led Zeppelin rectangle of escape into the machine strapped to the dash of my '60 Falcon, not put on a seat belt, and push the track selector over and over until it landed right on Immigrant Song.  Scratchy box speakers in the back seat, hole in the floorboard, not a lick of heat and life was GREAT.   I have loved a lot of music, but just the other day during a walk on the beach, I finally realized what my favorite song is.   I may be the last one to know, since it has been pointed out to me, not so gently, that I hum or sing this song A LOT.  So, for today, this is really real -  My favorite song is "Happy Birthday".  But any Led Zeppelin song is a close second.