My father, the songwriter Carl Sigman, was a rational man and his anti-rock screeds had their own internal logic: "It's noise," therefore "it's not music." Ipso facto, "they should call it something else." QED.
It's not just the thought that counts; it's the overview of how each year we repeat the journey home. And on the return -- our jeans a little tighter, the déjà vu unpleasantries of travel; all a mere blip, as in the end we still do anything to come home to our loved ones.