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[sm4him]

 

[sm4him]

^That video is in memory of my Dad, who would have been 91 years old today.

 

[sm4him]

It's funny that this song, more than any other, makes me think of my father--because my father was the MOST musically inept person on the planet. But the song goes way deeper than music, and it makes me bawl like a baby every time I hear it and think about my dad.

 

[sm4him]

"He earned his love through discipline, a thundering velvet hand,
His gentle means of sculpting souls took me years to understand."

 

[sm4him]

TRUTH:

"My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man,
I'm just a living legacy to the Leader of the Band."

 

[limr8 6]

Iggy Pop.

 

[sm4him]

And just in case I haven't already completely lost it before the song is over (which I always have..):

"And Poppa...I don't think I said, 'I love you' near enough."

 

[sm4him]

Regarding that last quote: My father hated the telephone. I get that from him, for sure.

He could let a phone ring and ring--back in the days before answering machines and voicemail, if Dad was the closest to the phone, eventually someone would yell out, "Could you answer that please?" and Dad would just say, "what for? I don't want to talk to anybody."

 

[limr8 6]

It's funny that this song, more than any other, makes me think of my father--because my father was the MOST musically inept person on the planet. But the song goes way deeper than music, and it makes me bawl like a baby every time I hear it and think about my dad.

Pavarotti always reminds me of my father. He loved listening to opera.

When I was in grad school in Pittsburgh, Pavarotti came to give a big concert at the civic center. I managed to get tickets for me and my parents and they drove out for the concert. It was the first time they'd ever seen him sing live (mine too. It wasn't the last time for any of us, though.)

My father was SO happy that he actually had tears in his eyes. This gruff, macho old Portuguese man had tears in his eyes. I can't get over that.

Of course, then he tried singing along and my mother and were mortified until we finally convinced him that he wouldn't be able to hear Pavarotti's voice as well unless he stopped.

 

[sm4him]

When my kids were little, on the very rare occasion that I could actually get Dad on the phone (he generally answered and, after discerning who it was, just said, "here, let me talk to your mother."), he would be very matter of fact. You were to just state your business and get off the phone.

One day, after a typically short conversation, I hung up and my youngest said, "Mom, how come, when you talk to Granny you always end with "I love you" but when you talk to PaPa you never say that?"

<commence guilt trip>

Yes, I called back and told my father I loved him.

 

[sm4him]

It's funny that this song, more than any other, makes me think of my father--because my father was the MOST musically inept person on the planet. But the song goes way deeper than music, and it makes me bawl like a baby every time I hear it and think about my dad.

Pavarotti always reminds me of my father. He loved listening to opera.

When I was in grad school in Pittsburgh, Pavarotti came to give a big concert at the civic center. I managed to get tickets for me and my parents and they drove out for the concert. It was the first time they'd ever seen him sing live (mine too. It wasn't the last time for any of us, though.)

My father was SO happy that he actually had tears in his eyes. This gruff, macho old Portuguese man had tears in his eyes. I can't get over that.

Of course, then he tried singing along and my mother and were mortified until we finally convinced him that he wouldn't be able to hear Pavarotti's voice as well unless he stopped.

My father always had either really old slow instrumental music playing in the kitchen (where you could usually find my father) or Irish music. He would "sing along" to the Irish music, but I use that term loosely. He was a TERRIBLE singer...really, painfully bad.

He had NO interest in concerts, or just about any activity that involved leaving the house after work.

 

[sm4him]

He was not the only horrible singer in our family. We are NOT a musically gifted lot. My middle brother is even worse than my father, but he makes up for it by being really loud.

Despite our inability to produce pleasing sounds when we sing, we would gather every Christmas Eve and sing Christmas carols. Each person, starting with the youngest and going up to the oldest, would pick a song and we'd sing it. Often acapella. There is little any worse than hearing a group who cannot stay on beat nor in tune attempt a song acapella.

Anyway, my sister and I were sitting right behind my dad. Thus we were the only ones who heard him sing, "When I was a seeker, I sought both night and day; I asked the Lord to guide me and He said 'Go Awaaaa-Ay...Go tell it on the mountain..."

To this day, I can't sing that song with a straight face anymore.

 

[limr8 6]

My father could actually carry a tune and he always sang along when the music was on in the house.

He used to sing these old Italian songs (he was Portuguese but lived in various places in Europe, so he ended up speaking several languages.) I remember one that I thought was some old folk song or something. Turned out it was a cigarette ad jingle!

 

[sm4him]

My father was a very elegant, dignified man:


Christmas. Yes, he has two hats on. And his standard issue Hawaiian shirt.

 

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Dad with all his grandkids:

Actually, two of them aren't truly grandkids (they were great-nephews) but they were ALL "his" grandkids.