Bat out of Hell

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This is the song we should have played at the end of the memorial service. This, one of my father’s favorite songs, from one of his favorite artists.  (Ha, Meatloaf, artist you say?) So much his favorite he took my brother, step-mother and I to a Meatloaf concert in 1993. No, no, I’m not kidding.  Instead it, the whole album, was lying right under my thumb on the five dollar table at the local sidewalk sales. In my car, listening as loud as I can with the windows rolled down, just as he would have, stuck between laughing hysterically and crying my eyes out.

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