I was a boy when I first heard this...
My father and I were out in the fields. It was a hard day. I had brought our radio out there to make the hours bearable--most of it was filled with static. I laughed as this song came clear across. Overjoyed. But my father--my father moved swift and struck hard. I was on the ground in an instant, and as the sweat stung the swelling in my eye, I looked up to see him smashing the radio with a fury I had never suspected him of having. He walked away, crying.
That night he drank. Three times over...each swirl of the bottle brought another tirade of fists and words. Against me, against himself, against god and his country. And against those commie bastards in Vietnam.
My father shot himself the next morning. A Friday morning.
Thanks for digging up old memories, jerk.