Sunday Drives with Tom Jones and my Father by DJ Alex Gutierrez

 

Sunday Drives with Tom Jones and my Father

by DJ Alex Gutierrez

Back in the late '60s and '70s, growing up in Miami meant sun-soaked days, mangos falling off trees, and Sunday car rides that felt like magic carpets on four wheels. But what truly made them magical wasn’t just the scenery — it was the music floating out of our Oldsmobile , Cutlass Supremes' AM radio speakers, always carefully selected by my father. He wasn’t much of a “ talker”

He was the undisputed DJ of our family road trips. Whether we were cruising down Biscayne Boulevard or heading out to Eden Roc on Miami Beach,, my old man had a strict playlist: Ray Conniff and the 101 Strings, Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass, and the ever-passionate Tom Jones. And let me tell you — nothing quite captures the feeling of watching palm trees blur past your window like a trumpet solo from “A Taste of Honey” or the dramatic croon of “It’s Not Unusual.”

Funny thing is, I didn’t even realize at the time that those sounds were quietly chiseling away at my personality, shaping how I saw the world. It wasn’t just background music. It was the mood. When Conniff played, everything looked softer, more sentimental. With Herb Alpert, life felt upbeat, cheeky, a little mischievous. And when Tom Jones sang, even the clouds seemed to swagger a little more confidently across the Miami sky.

Music has a way of sinking into your bones like that — almost without permission. It shapes your tastes, sure, but more than that, it sculpts your sense of humor, your romantic side, even your patience in traffic. You grow up realizing that you hum through life in the key your childhood was played in.

As I got older and had kids of my own, I caught myself doing the same thing — planting musical seeds. I didn’t want them growing up thinking music was just filler noise between commercials. So I piped in Barry White during Saturday morning pancakes. Marvin Gaye played while we did homework. The Stylistics serenaded us on grocery store runs. I wanted them to feel life, not just live it.

And maybe, just maybe, I wanted them to see the world through my musical lens. To know that life has its own rhythm — sometimes smooth, sometimes funky, sometimes heartbreakingly slow — and that music teaches you how to move with it.

Looking back, I think my dad was onto something. He wasn’t just playing music — he was giving us an emotional education, a soft lesson in beauty, sadness, joy, and playfulness. Those Sunday drives weren’t just about going somewhere. They were about becoming someone.

And in the rearview mirror of life, I can see it now — we all carry those melodies with us. Even decades later, when I hear Tom Jones on a scratchy old speaker, I’m that boy again, looking out the window at a world that seemed to change depending on the song playing. " What's New Pussycat?" Wooo