When I was SEVEN, I loved John Phillip Sousa. On Fridays at school, we were allowed to bring in our favorite records to play to the rest of the class. My first subtle indication that I was not like the rest of my classmates, was when I showed up with one of my dad's records of John Phillip Sousa....and in the sea of 45's by the Captain & Tenille and WAR and "The Night Chicago Died" my poor little brass band album stood out piteously.
I've never quite recovered.

When I was little, my grandpa used to wake us up banging a pot with a wooden spoon and singing the Cuban national anthem at the top of his lungs:

"Al combate corred bayameses
que la patria os comtempla orgullosa
no temais una muerte gloriosa
que morir por la patria es vivir
En cadenas vivir es morir
en afrenta y oprobio sumidos
del clarin escuchad el sonido
a las armas valientes corred."

I didn't mind so much, because I was an early riser, so sometimes he let me bang the pot to wake up my brothers and cousins.