Monday Musings postings are my articles from a local paper. These columns are my property, so I have chosen to use them here, for my friends and family that do not subscribe to that paper. These are the unedited articles.
There was a time that my response would have not have been surprise. Daddy singing was not anything out of the ordinary, it happened every day, and it could happen at any time during the day. Making music was merely second nature for Daddy. He did not have to think about it, it just happened.
Daddy also whistled another amazing talent he had and shared on many occasions. The sound of his whistle was a musical sound that cannot be duplicated by any musical device. Daddy kept perfect time and stayed on key every time. There have been so many times that Daddy whistled and I sang, or I played the piano and he whistled, our music just happened spontaneously. That is often the best kind of music, the unplanned and unpracticed melodies that flow easily.
When I was a child, I believed that the song Bushel and a Peck was something that he had made up just for me. Daddy always sang that song to me, sometimes bouncing me on his knee as he sang. Imagine my surprise when I discovered differently!
Daddy’s voice is amazing, if you have heard him sing, then you know that this is true. Daddy shared his gift every Sunday morning in the church choir. During the evening services, I sat near Daddy, and listened to the sound of his voice, I did not sing. The sound of his voice was so amazingly awesome, that I just had to be able to hear it.
Last week was my husband’s birthday. We took a birthday cake to Mama and Daddy’s house. The cake was placed in front of my husband and Daddy was asked if he would like to sing Happy Birthday with me. He did, Daddy sang Happy Birthday! He carried the tune perfectly, the words may have been imperfect by a different standard, but it was perfection to our ears! Kevin recognized how valuable this precious gift was. The cruel and hideous Alzheimer’s beast is stealing everything that it can, but at that moment, Daddy sang. The music will come to an end; this painful knowledge is with us each day. For now, I am able to sit next to him, slip my hand in his, Daddy smiles and sometimes we sing.