by Dan Ray
I have visceral memories of being somewhere between six and ten years old, cringing in the backseat of my mom’s car as she belted Sarah McLachlan’s “Building a Mystery.” At the time, I saw my mother’s actions as nothing less than incredibly embarrassing. (Although, I — and most fellow millennials — was probably burned on McLachlan by those terrifying animal welfare commercials where “Angel” blared suddenly over the TV speakers, casting shame.)
