When I was a kid, my dad had this game we’d play during the drive to school. Assuming I couldn’t talk him into listening to my mix CDs — each one an expertly-curated mix of Nelly, Incubus and low-quality audio of Tom Green skits — he’d put on one of the classic rock stations out of Champaign and quiz me on who the artist was.

It always felt cool to get one right. There was stuff like The Beatles that I knew pretty well, and then I reached a point where I could ID bands that had super distinctive singers, like Aerosmith and AC/DC. (I can very vividly remember my brother and I laughing our asses off at this not-so-great AC/DC song.)

By the time I hit middle school, I’d decided I was too cool for the radio game. I would still guess who the artist was, but I’m sure I did it with the kind of smoldering, unwarranted contempt that only pre-teens are capable of.

During one commute, “Freewill” by Rush came on the radio. I don’t know if I got it right or not, but my dad insisted it was “ a good one” and turned it up during the chorus for a line he said was especially good. From the speakers of my dad’s truck came the unmistakable voice of Geddy Lee, wailing in all his reedy glory…

“You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice/If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice!”

Oh shit. He was right. If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

The next year, I started high school and discovered that I could get a ton of free music by borrowing CDs from the library, ripping them to iTunes and returning them the next morning. One of the first things I did was get the entire Rush discography.

I found a band that took some of my favorite elements of big dumb rock music and made it… well… Not dumb.

There were no Behind the Music tales of excess, hidden touring guitarists playing under the stage or embarrassing “Squeeze me baby, ’til the juice runs down my leg” lyrics. Songs like “Vital Signs” and “Entre Nous” hit me in ways I never could have expected, and man, could I relate to being “old enough to know what’s right and young enough not to choose it.”

And while I got to see them live a few times, my favorite Rush memories are the moments their music made possible, like the time I gave a persuasive speech about why they deserved to be in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame to a professor and class full of college kids who truly couldn’t have given less of a shit. (I think I got a B. Sorry, Rush.)

I’m thankful for that “Freewill” morning with my dad in the car. I’ve enjoyed every debate I’ve ever had about whether the rap in “Roll the Bones” is actually maybe kinda sorta good. I miss having arguments with friends in my dorm room over whether or not we should play “The Camera Eye” as part of our crazy long Rush set on Rock Band.

With Neil Peart gone, we can definitively say there won’t be any new Rush music or shows. But it’s nice to know that as long as the songs are out there, unsuspecting kids will continue to stumble upon them and create their own moments.

The author wants to freeze this moment a little bit longer, make each sensation a little bit stronger. You can follow him on Twitter.