There is virtually no type of music
That wasn’t in my house as a child.
My parents, both musicians, both singers:
My father played over thirty instruments,
Everyone played the piano —
My lifelong love of classical music:
Of jazz, of church music –
Of every kind of music –
Started early, and will, I hope
But the music of unaccompanied singers
Was what we did best:
The five of us at times, or, often
Four out of the five in quartet.
We traveled the country,
Hearing singers, singing…
I was performing in front of people
With my family by age five.
My father’s favorite family memories:
Us singing together,
Not squabbling, or even laughing,
= = = = =
Now, fast forward
To another point in the past:
Ten years ago, at
My father’s funeral.
Men my father sang with
Stood up to sing, unaccompanied:
My father had sung his whole life,
Directed choruses, arranged tunes,
And loved it all.
I know how people are about music:
I know how I am.
While we all love it,
We are not always touched by
What means the world to others.
Like languages we do not speak
The beauty of music whose style is strange to us
Goes unappreciated, or ignored.
But if you have the time
And some headphones
And know some of what
My father lived for…
(… inspired by this prompt …)