I grew up in a trailer. The trailer had a small kitchen, a bathroom, a living room and three bedrooms. One bedroom was for me, one bedroom was for my brother and one was for my Dad. There was a circle drive that led the cars around the mobile home park. I still remember when my neighbors got arrested for stealing. This was before the trailer burned down from an electrical fire around 2006.

My parents divorced when I was three, so I don't remember much about how the divorce went down. Memories from that time come back in random spurts. My Dad won custody of us and we traveled back and forth between him and my Mom's house about every two weeks until I was 18. When I turned 18, I was given the choice of which parent to live with and for multiple reasons; I chose my Dad.

We didn't have much growing up, but we had enough and more than most. I remember some middle school classmates who would gossip about the fact that we had nicer things. However, the only reason we had nice things was because my Dad always made sure we had a decent Christmas. Little did I know that he was taking out $1,000 loans in order to have presents under the tree.

My Dad is a guitarist who regularly tours around Michigan. Music was a requirement in our household. I had participated in band and choir in high school, but he was the one who influenced me the most regarding my musical preferences and knowledge. Naturally, one year he asked me what kind of instrument I wanted. I told him a piano. That year, he got me a Casio keyboard that I still have and play to this day.

My Dad has boxes and boxes of records. Everything from Cream to Led Zeppelin. We would sit in his bedroom, with the record player playing the Who in the background, and contemplate life, lyrics, the way music is made or the way it sounds. He would always tell me to pay attention to this verse, that coda, those lyrics and why this live version was better than the original. He taught me to appreciate the intricacies of vinyl, album art and liner notes.

While I can't be there with my father right now, I'm grateful that I have someone to write about. My Dad and I have had our challenges. We don't agree on everything, but we don't have to. We've always had a mutual respect for each other and I think that helped when raising us. He is more than just a father. He is a good friend.

He taught me everything he could with the resources that we had - which I think is all parents try to do. I know that I wasn't planned, but I'm incredibly grateful I was the happy accident.