The Boss, Pops and me

A big part of my serious Bruce Springsteen enthusiasm will always be associated with my dad.

Growing up, Pops had all his records and played them often on the living room stereo.

In November 1986, Dad came home with The Boss’ sprawling new box set “Live 1975-85.”

I didn’t appreciate it all that much as a third-grader, but I sure have since, buying the CD version when I reached my early 20s.

Right around then, Dad took me to my first Springsteen concert:

The highly anticipated E Street Band reunion tour that hit the Ice Palace (now St. Pete Times Forum) in Tampa on March 6, 2000.

We waited in line together at the USF Sun Dome box office the chilly Saturday morning tickets went on sale.

Still ended up in the rafters for the sold-out show.

We could barely see The Boss.

But he delivered an epic rock ’n’ roll sermon that shook the entire arena.

We downed overpriced draft beer, soft pretzels, hot dogs and who knows what else.

Dad paid for everything, including the $72 tickets, like he almost always does when we hang.

My first Springsteen show is one of countless special memories my dad has made with me.

But we also have our share of cruddy ones.

Few people can argue like my old man and me.

Drives Mom crazy.

We’ve both mellowed with age, but every now and then a friendly political or religious debate turns into a war of words.

That’s when, after cooling down, I often go home and play “The River,” my favorite track from “Live 1975-85.”

The song is terrific, but it’s the five-minute spoken intro about the deep, intricate bonds between father and son that gives chills.

Somber, sparse music plays for about a minute and then Springsteen asks the cliched, “How ya doing out there tonight?”

The crowd cheers wildly.

“That’s good,” The Boss responds, sounding nothing at all like a rock star revving up the audience.

“This is, ah, when I was growing up, me and my dad used to go at it all the time, over almost anything ...”

Springsteen talks about the long hair he had as a teenager.

His dad hated it.

Not comfortable at home, Springsteen would stay warm inside a phone booth talking to his girl “for hours at a time.”

When he’d finally return, his dad would be waiting for him in the kitchen.

“What do you think you’re doing with yourself?” Dad would always ask.

“And the worst part about it was I could never explain it to him,” Springsteen says.

He gets in a motorcycle accident and, while convalescing in the hospital, Dad has a barber cut his hair.

Springsteen tells his old man he hates him and will never forgive him.

“I can’t wait until the Army gets you,” his dad responds. “When the Army gets a hold of you they’re going to cut all that hair off and make a man out of you.”

This was 1968 or ’69 and many of Springsteen’s friends were going to Vietnam -- and not coming back.

“And a lot that came back, weren’t the same anymore,” Springsteen says.

Then comes his draft notice.

A wild weekend with friends and then they get on the bus to go.

“And we were all so scared,” Springsteen says.

He returns home after being gone for three days.

“Where have you been?”

“I went to take my physical,” he tells his dad.

“What happened?”

“They didn’t take me,” Springsteen says.

“That’s good,” his father responds.

Like Springsteen’s dad, mine has always just wanted the best for me.

And I for him.

Happy Father’s Day, Pops.