My earliest fond memories all revolve around my mom and dad, my uncles, and family sing-alongs. I would have to try to sit patiently while the grown ups talked, until FINALLY my Uncle Frank would move to the piano stool, Uncle Bill, Dad and the rest of us would belt out whatever tune he was playing, and I was in heaven. Dancing was a big part of the sing alongs as far as my dad was concerned, He would grab my mom or one of us kids and twirl around the floor to “Casey Would Waltz” or “Me and My Shadow.” I loved it all. My mom and dad were particularly good jitterbuggers, and it was a joy to watch them move as one. Dad’s real love was jazz but he liked all music. One night before VCRs my dad woke me up to come watch Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong perform “And That’s Jazz” in the great old musical “High Society.” I loved it too.
As I grew older I still loved these family times but gained my own taste in music, particularly the singers and songwriters out of LA, the Eagles, Bonnie Raitt and Jackson Browne, who was my favorite recording artist of all time and still is. I loved his moving and personal lyrics, and yes, the way I could always sing along.
Two years ago this month Jackson Browne was appearing at The Maine State Pier in Portland, and my husband had bought us tickets for my birthday. We were so looking forward to it, and even though my dad was then in hospice care in Massachusetts I made sure to get home for that concert. When Jackson Browne broke into “For a Dancer,” I started bawling. Right there, in the middle of happy fans all I could think of was my dad, and the one dance, in the end that we all do alone. I was watching him in my minds eye twirling around my aunt and uncles rec room, and thinking of him now unable to move. The lyrics of a song gave my heart permission to release all the pent up emotions of that difficult time. Music does that. The next day I returned to Massachusetts, and told my mom and dad all about the concert, and how great it had been. My dad smiled, always glad to hear of anyone enjoying live music, but I hope also seeing the love of it he had instilled in me from an early age. I hope that made him happy. He was gone within a week. His brothers had gone before him, and I picture them now, chatting politely on a sofa in heaven, then Uncle Frank moves to the piano, and they all sing, big smiles on their faces. We are still singing along with you down here, Dad. Thanks for sharing that love of music and through music for all those years, I can still feel it with me, and my toes are tapping.