I can’t remember the first Tom Petty song I ever heard. I have no big revelation, no singular moment that sticks out as the moment I discovered Tom Petty. That’s because Tom Petty was always there.
He was at the local pool where I spent every long summer afternoon as a kid. The radio was never not tuned to the classic rock station and it seemed like they had some rule that a Petty track had to play at least once an hour.
He was there on VH1 every morning while I got ready for school. Those were the days when my parents deemed MTV too racy for my eyes, but the “adult contemporary” that circulated on VH1 was just fine. Still half asleep, 7 years old, maybe 8. Sometimes it was “Don’t Come Around Here No More” on the classics hour, “Swingin’” when it switched to the top 20 countdown.
He was there on every single mix cd blasted in my mom’s car, my dad’s car, my car as I learned how to drive. He was the soundtrack for my friends and I every time we tried to escape the boredom of our small suburban town by going on endless cruises. He was the ridiculous dance to “Don’t Do Me Like That” my youngest sister and I coordinated in bits and pieces any time we sat in traffic. Both my sisters scoffed and rolled their eyes at everything else I played; it was too old, too obscure. They wanted One Direction and Miley Cyrus and whatever else was cool on the radio that I was blissfully unaware of. But somehow Petty was always accepted without complaints.
I have so many memories tied up in Tom Petty, yes. That’s true for any artist or band that I love. But what I’ve realized over the past week, what I keep thinking about, is that I honestly thought those memories were still being made.
Tom Petty was always there because Tom Petty never left.