Lorry Myers

I was riding along, singing that same old song when I heard a sound coming from the backseat. I turned the volume down in time to hear my grandson say, “Queenie, your music is old.” 

With that, I had to pull over. 

“What are you talking about?” I asked my 6-year-old grandson, turning to stare him down in his booster seat. 

“They don’t play songs like that on the radio anymore,” Ivan said, sounding like he knew what he was talking about.  

“Hey, that was Conway Twitty! I saw him in concert!” I replied, trying to keep the sting out of my voice. 

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