The Dead got me. I tried to escape them.
I need to preface this by saying that I ate a great deal of Cherry Garcia ice cream growing up. My dad loves Cherry Garcia. He does not, you may be interested to know, particularly like the Grateful Dead. I don’t think he dislikes the Grateful Dead. They just really didn’t match up with his Spyro Gyra record collection.
I inherited his ambivalence toward the music and his enthusiasm for the ice cream (the texture of frozen cherries should be verified by the Vatican as a holy miracle). But then there was this boy…