When you hear the words “family life,” you might think of cozy Sunday dinners, quiet movie nights or peaceful weekends. But if you’ve ever lived with a hardcore metal dad, you know that “peaceful” isn’t exactly the right word. Growing up with a dad who’s a die-hard fan of Metallica, Slayer and Black Sabbath, life has been anything but ordinary.
Imagine waking up on a Saturday morning not to the chirping of birds but to the earth-shattering riffs of “Enter Sandman” blasting through the house. My dad, a fervent vinyl collector, has an impressive array of records that serve as our weekend wake-up call. The sheer volume could probably wake the neighbors three streets down.
For my dad, it’s not just music; it’s a lifestyle. He has an entire wardrobe of band t-shirts, though sometimes they’re a tad too small, revealing a proud dad-bod belly that protrudes beneath the faded logos of his favorite bands. It’s a sight to behold, especially when he’s air-guitaring along with his favorite solos.
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