Today, my TA at school, a recent high school grad, asked me what people listened to before mp3 players.

“Disc men,” I replied. “But you couldn’t walk too fast, or run with them really. You sort of had to sit with them, holding on with both hands.”

“Oh. Did you ever make a mix tape?”

This question hit me like a pillowcase full of sticky rice.

Yes. Yes I have made mix tapes. Yes I have raced through dinner to get upstairs in time to tape the only non-top 40 hour on the radio in Connecticut, Sunday nights from 7 to 8. Yes, I have made tapes from radio, from cds, from LPs, and from OTHER TAPES. Yes, I have repaired a worn out mix tape given to me by a boy I liked with nail scissors and scotch tape, and it WORKED. Yes, I’ve felt the little plastic teeth on the tip of my pinky finger as I wound tape tighter after untwisting it. Yes, I hand made labels and wrote love notes and made collages to go in the tape box. Yes, I timed out the tracks so they’d fit just so, always knowing I could throw in a Ramones song or a clip from a sound effects CD I had if there were only a few seconds left on a side. Mix tapes were an expression of love and friendship and how much more you knew about music than your friends. What do kids do now? Share play lists? Make personal podcasts? Ew.

There are things about the internet that are so wonderful. Today, a seventh grader doesn’t need to rely on the radio or the recommendations of the creepy guys at Record Express to hear something new. But the tangible gift that a mix tape was, this thing to take from your pocket and give to someone else to slip in his pocket — I don’t know where you can get that online for the same low cost and high time investment of a mix tape.

I want to make some mix tapes RIGHT NOW. I want to know about your mix tapes. Our story must be told, dinosaurs, lest we forget.