A Six Pack From Dad

A few weeks ago, my parents came to town for the night and on the night before they arrived I asked my Father to bring up two items.
The first was a scrapbook my best friend from high school had created and left at my home a few years ago. The scrapbook was filled with nonsensical things, but there were a few incriminating things in it that I really didn’t want my parents to see, even though they had two years to rummage through it if they were so inclined.
The second thing was a pair of binoculars, as I acquired tickets to see Rush from 30 rows back and I’d like to see Neil Peart’s drum solo a little more up close than from behind 29 rows of air drummers.
These two things were the only things I asked my Father to bring.
He brought the two things and he also brought six albums that had been put into a closet and forgotten for thirty years.
No shit.
The albums were: The Beach Boys Best Of (which actually contained Helen Reddy’s I Am Woman album instead), The Bee Gees Rare Precious & Beautiful, Steppenwolf 7 (which actually contained The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album…on the old Capital rainbow label too), John Denver Windsong, John Mayall USA Union and Rare Earth Ma.
I vaguely remember these albums and, it’s true, there are several identifying marks throughout the sleeves that would indicated that they were in the possession of a seven year old.
None of the albums (aside from the original vinyl of The Beatles) appears to be played that much and nothing stands out as something that I enjoyed. I suppose the Steppenwolf was a favorite; I do remember that it fell out of the sleeve in my Mother’s Volkswagen Beetle and subsequently melted from the heat.
The other curious thing is, out of all of the shit (including music) that I’ve stashed at my Parent’s house, why did he choose these six albums? Is it a hint “Get your shit out of my house!” and, if so, why didn’t he bring all of the bitchin singles that may currently be warping in his attic?
Shit, I better get those.
Here, these half dozen obscure and strangely random titles sit, in my basement, as I ponder tossing them entirely. They smell musty, and I’m sure the surface noise is unbearable on some of them.
I did a bit of research and found that Ma (which features a seventeen minute long title track) was cited as one of the best Rare Earth titles in their catalog. I might keep that one, if anything, for the horrific cover art.