He grew up dirt poor on the plains of Saskatchewan, where the closest thing he ever had to a musical instrument was a homemade toy drum made out of a coffee can and a broken hockey stick. Yeah, my Daddy loved music.

And he wanted to pass that love of music to me, his only son. I can still remember the day when Jann Arden tickets went on sale. Mamma said the family budget couldn’t afford the tickets, that we were barely getting by on the paycheck he brought home as foam quality inspector at Labatts. So he went out and got a second job at the slaughter house. Third shift gristle supervisor on the back bacon line.

Of course, I had to pay my way through college, where I majored in ice engineering and puck development. There was that time when Daddy showed up at my dorm. “Come on, son,” he said. “Put away the books. I’ve got tickets for Anne Murray.” Later on I recall Mamma saying that he had to pull a weekend shift as chief hoser at the donut supply house to pay for the service charges.

Yeah, Daddy worked hard to ensure that he could take his son to concerts. Kind of like a family tradition. Now I’ve got a son of my own. Money’s tight, but I try to make sure he experiences the good things in life, like The Barra MacNeils, Holly Cole and Barenaked Ladies.

And now one of the greatest artists in Canadian history is back for another tour. That’s right, I’m talking about none other than Bryan Adams. It’s a chance for three generations of this family to do something together. It’s going to be great. Oh, there’s my Daddy now. Excuse me for a minute…

“Hey Daddy! If you don’t get your rear in gear, you’re going to be late for your swing shift job at the donut hole testing facility. Better get a move on! And did you get paid for that weekend at the curling broom assembling plant? That Guess Who concert is coming up and you promised, remember?”

Aren’t family traditions great? A real beauty, eh?