The tour ended with a salvation sales pitch aimed at getting people to opt for heaven instead of hell.Dad hates and loves this picture. Without thinking, like a reflex, that song began to work its disco voodoo magic on me.In March 2016, Dad came from his home in South Carolina to visit me and my wife in Nashville. And the beat was there. It was Sunday lunch, the food was ready, and in keeping with our family tradition of saying a blessing before a meal, I reached out for my wife’s hand across the table and for Dad’s, who was sitting to my left. Who would I have left to call for parenting advice? Dad couldn’t die now. Dad knew the other woman wasn’t right for him when she did that to his hair and then made him go to a disco bar.

As part of the drama, the group toured hell in all its garish un-glory, followed by a brief vision of heaven’s splendor. The defibrillator made a high-pitch squeal as it charged. He came over and started mouth-to-mouth. No doubt, his life was saved by modern medicine; by the quick action of doctors, nurses, and medics; by my neighbor; and even, in some small way, by that genre of pop music he deplores, the music that inspired Bob Ross haircuts, platform shoes and polyester pants.I’m not sure what hell looks like, or heaven for that matter, but I’m glad that wasn’t the day Dad found out. A cardiologist brought me and my wife back to see him. His hair is permed and teased high above his actual head.As I kept the compressions going, I couldn’t believe this might be the last day I spent with Dad. Dad had been so happy when we told him. The defibrillator made a high-pitch squeal as it charged. So, I just kept on with the chest compressions, “Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. He told me that apparently hell looks a lot like a ’70s-era disco bar, with a smoke machine, strobe lights and music blasting. I felt Dad’s sternum crack beneath my hands. I shook him and called out, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” But he wouldn’t say a word. I, I, I …” I forgot the words to the verses, but the chorus stayed with me. I, I, I …” I forgot the words to the verses, but the chorus stayed with me. I whispered into his ear over and over, “I love you. "Stayin' Alive" rests on "four on the floor" beat.

He stayed in intensive care for a full week and then a room on the cardiac wing of the hospital for another week. His bright blue eyes stared into the distance.He hated the Bee Gees, couldn’t stand platform shoes, and deplored the only pair of polyester pants he’d ever owned.I was relieved when my wife, who’d called 911, was also able to find our neighbor, who is a doctor. No doubt, his life was saved by modern medicine; by the quick action of doctors, nurses, and medics; by my neighbor; and even, in some small way, by that genre of pop music he deplores, the music that inspired Bob Ross haircuts, platform shoes and polyester pants.On one such Singles Again outing, during a Halloween weekend, Dad unwittingly went with the group to another church’s “Hell House.” An evangelical Christian version of a haunted house, Hell Houses are intended to scare you out of hell by scaring the hell out of you. He told me that apparently hell looks a lot like a ’70s-era disco bar, with a smoke machine, strobe lights and music blasting. A month later, a cardiac surgeon installed a pacemaker-defibrillator.Dad hates and loves this picture.

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