For many many years, certainly most of my teenage years and maybe even in early college years, my family had an 8-track player. Ahhhh, the days of the 8 track player.
Today, on my way to work, I had a flashback to those Sunday mornings when my dad, in an attempt to get us kids up and moving for church, would pop in an 8-track tape of Marching Band music. And then he'd turn up the volume and open our bedroom doors.
Before we knew what hit us, the upbeat marching music, full of drums and horns and cymbals, would fill our ears and we could not escape the sound, even if we tried to bury our heads in our pillow or blankets. We'd finally roll out of bed, grumbling at our loud intrusive dad, but before we knew it, our feet and hands would be moving faster and faster, until the beat of the drums was conducting our movements. And by the time it was time to go to church, there was usually a good attitude and smile on our faces.
My dad knew what he was doing.
He's kind of smart like that!