Growing up my father used to blare opera in his car on his way to and from work. I’d always know when he was home as I heard his car rumble down the driveway with a woman “screaming” at the top of her lungs. Well, screaming is what I thought of opera when I was young… but lo and behold, the more I listened to it, and the more my dad educated me on the stories, the singing and more, the more I liked it. Some of my most favorite memories of living in New York City was when my father came to town and took me to the Met. One…