This gift wasn't something that I ever asked for. It was never on a birthday list. It could not be found in the Sears Wish Book. I never, ever said that I would simply die if I didn't get it (although I wonder if I would now if I didn't have it). I did not stomp my feet or hold my breath. I never kicked and screamed. Truth be told, I didn't know I had received this gift until I had it for a very long time.
The gift is a love of music.
My Dad loved music, all music. He's the five year old in the picture here. And he passed that love of music on to my siblings and me. He had a collection of recordings that any music lover would envy. He had 45s, 78s and 33 1/3 in vinyl along with CDs that came later. The music on the 78s were my favorites. Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman and yes, even Spike Jones. I can still see the stacks of 78s in our attic just waiting to be listened to.
The gift is a love of music.
My Dad loved music, all music. He's the five year old in the picture here. And he passed that love of music on to my siblings and me. He had a collection of recordings that any music lover would envy. He had 45s, 78s and 33 1/3 in vinyl along with CDs that came later. The music on the 78s were my favorites. Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman and yes, even Spike Jones. I can still see the stacks of 78s in our attic just waiting to be listened to.
If I close my eyes, I can see our kitchen...with that God awful green and red Pennsylvania Dutch wallpaper (sorry Mom, I really hated it then too). The large kitchen table with the look of marble and the black, white and gray designs along the outer edge. And of course, the seven mismatched chairs around it. On the table is my Dad's portable record player. For very young readers, look it up...it's not like I mentioned 8-tracks. The table would have stacks of 78s, saved newspapers, and movie reel cases. Dad would have a blank comopostion book and a black Flair ready and at least me at the table with him. My job, other than listening and singing along, was to make a template of the 78 record and start tracing it on the newspapers. Next step is cutting them out. Dad would take a 78, write the titles (both sides) and artist into his book, then the record would be played. You are probably thinking, this must take all night, maybe two. Think again. Weeks more like it. Dad had over 5,000 78s in his collection. Each record would be then placed in the movie reel tin, and a piece of newspaper on top. And this is how we store 78s.
Just a blurb here...Dad always told us that the 78s were to be divided between the five of us. Well, that never happened...step mom and brothers decided to sell from under me...never knew until it was too late. Nope, they will not be forgiven for this. Not that I hold a grudge, but...
As we would sit at the kitchen table, the pile of newspaper circles and 78s both getting smaller, Dad and I would play cards, 500 rummy. And every song he seemed to have a memory to go with it. This song would remind him of his Dad, that song his Grandma...Oh Johnny would always remind him of me, dancing around the dining room at two singing my lungs out (Oh Johnny being my favorite).
Because of his gift to me, I love all music. From opera to rock opera (The Phantom of the Opera and Tommy come to mind), bluegrass to swing, country to country rock, blues to heavy metal, big bands to standards. I love it all.
And as most baby boomers, I love to listen to my music loud...but Dad, he would never yell upstairs "Turn that crap down"! He would always yell, "Turn that up! I love that band"! Had to love that man.
And Dad? I love the gift, but can we talk about the flat butt?
As we would sit at the kitchen table, the pile of newspaper circles and 78s both getting smaller, Dad and I would play cards, 500 rummy. And every song he seemed to have a memory to go with it. This song would remind him of his Dad, that song his Grandma...Oh Johnny would always remind him of me, dancing around the dining room at two singing my lungs out (Oh Johnny being my favorite).
Because of his gift to me, I love all music. From opera to rock opera (The Phantom of the Opera and Tommy come to mind), bluegrass to swing, country to country rock, blues to heavy metal, big bands to standards. I love it all.
And as most baby boomers, I love to listen to my music loud...but Dad, he would never yell upstairs "Turn that crap down"! He would always yell, "Turn that up! I love that band"! Had to love that man.
And Dad? I love the gift, but can we talk about the flat butt?
