The 8-track tape case that lived on the back seat of my 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme was always full. Full to the point that I had to rotate different cartridges in and out to be able to listen to the variety my buddy’s and my teenage brain required.

“What exactly is a Doobie Brother?” my dad asked once.

“I have no idea,” I answered. Which was a lie. However, admitting that I knew what that was would’ve been instantly incriminating.

Our house on ...