The Midwest has a uniform. It’s worn everywhere, but it started here. Blue jeans, work boots, and a hoodie, blue collar chic. And that’s the memory that remains, the one that hasn’t faded with time and the damage I’ve done to my mind and body. Ian, sitting in his car seat in the back seat of my truck, in his snow boots and a very rare pair of blue jeans, with his black Elmo hoodie and my Metallica hat, throwing horns and head-banging to Hail to the King like he was born for that moment, for that groove. He wore the same uniform as me, like most little boys do.

This was the fall of 2014, and the new Woodward-Rock Cut Campus was being built. Like all four-year-olds I’ve met, Ian loved construction projects. So when I was off work and he was awake, which was rare, I would take him to the job site, which was right down the street, and let him watch them dig. It’s one of those moments as a dad you don’t really talk about. It’s not a “big deal,” and at the same time, it’s everything, even if they don’t remember. We would just sit there and watch. The occasional excited shrieks of “Dad, look!” were the only things that broke the silence as we watched them dig. Four-year-olds are easily excitable. They are pure energy wrapped in a tiny human form, so the moments you really have their attention stick out.

I could not tell you how long we sat that day; I just remember that the sun was dropping below the horizon as we left. Ian has always loved music. I like to think it’s because he was raised right, but it’s mainly just who he is. As we were heading west on Harlem Rd, I could faintly hear Hail to the King coming on the CD player in my truck, so I turned the volume up. As we pulled up to the red light at Harlem Rd and Forest Hills, I heard Ian in the back seat saying, “Turn it up, Dad,” and I turned around to see him smiling, ear to ear, with his right hand held high, throwing horns and singing like it was his calling, Hail to the King Hail to the one.

I’m so grateful that memory has stayed with me. I don’t know why some moments stay and some fade, but in that moment, he was happy, and I had a part in that, and there’s nothing better as a parent.

Last week, we took Ian and Elena, who are now fourteen and sixteen, to see Avenged Sevenfold. I watched him stare in awe with his hands held high as the moment enveloped him. And I saw him look at me and silently ask for permission, and I just nodded back, as he ran into the mosh pit like he was born to do this. As he came back a few minutes later, I saw my sixteen-year-old, and he was happy, and for a moment, he was four again, in the back of my truck, just hanging out with his dad.

He was wearing the same uniform as me when I was sixteen, unlike most sixteen-year-olds.