I don't know how old I was when it happened. But I'm sure I wasn't even twelve.
Given that I was so young, it seems a little odd to think I was sitting quiet on the living room couch in my family's home. But I was. Just sitting, listening to music. I wasn't bounding or chasing or leaping. I suppose I wasn't that sort of child.
Though my parents had both come from suburbs of Los Angeles they were still a product of their era, and they listened to folk music. Normally, Dan Hicks and his Hot Licks, It's A Beautiful Day, or The Mamas and The Papas would be playing on the eight track stereo. Several songs would play. Then there would be the customary click from the machine while the device repositioned itself to read another stream of analog from the reel. And the music would start again.
That particular day something was playing that I had never heard before. And I remember sitting in awe as it occurred to me that I knew what the next note was. I don't recall whether it was a melodic or harmonic note, but I frequently knew what came next. I was spellbound.
The house was otherwise quiet and my father walked through the room. He must've recognized that something was puzzling me as he asked, "Hey Posspie, what's up?"
I told him that I knew what the next note was. He was standing behind me and I had not turned to face him, so I could not see his expression. But there was a pregnant pause before he responded, "Well, honey, that just means you're growing up."
And then he continued on his way out of the room.
I was so proud. I was growing up.