my dad the singer

The older I get, the more I appreciate my dad. Earlier today I was reminded of an embarrassing moment I experienced as a kid courtesy of my pops. My memory of this event is a little foggy, but I was probably 7 or 8 and we had company over at the house. My dad decided that our guests would love nothing more than for me to perform a song for them. I declined, but my dad insisted. So I proceeded to sing "La Bamba" in front of my adoring fans while my dad cheered me on and urged me to swing my hips and "to get into it." I'm sure my audience gave me a big round of applause, but I couldn't have been more embarrassed.

Well, I never did "get into" singing even though I was in chorus for a few years. My dad, however, has always loved singing and music, and it shows when you enter our house in Tampa. In the living room reside several speakers that are bigger than some of the middle schoolers I work with. They are huge and they are loud. My dad used to buy karaoke tapes of old Frank Sinatra, Willie Nelson and Ritchie Valens (I have him to thank for my "La Bamba" incident) songs and practiced singing these songs on a regular basis.

Once he and my mom went out with my mom's nephew, Greg, and his wife, Donna, to karaoke night at a local Holiday Inn. Everyone had such a great time listening to my dad sing and whenever Donna was around my dad was guaranteed to sing the song "Donna." They came home that night with a tape of my dad singing that song and they couldn't have been happier.

My mom was, of course, my dad's biggest fan. She always loved sitting on the couch as he serenaded her. Even when he sang songs in Spanish and she didn't understand a word that was coming out of his mouth, she sat there and smiled.

When I was in high school my dad's love for belting out those tunes did not diminish. And those speakers were happy to continue their mission of blasting my dad's voice for anyone near Sandcroft Court to hear. I remember talking on the phone extra loud sometimes when he was singing so that my friends could hear me. Other times I'd pull up in the driveway and could hear his voice before I even got to the front door.

During one Christmas break when I was in college and my dad was in Guatemala, a bunch of my friends came over and were in awe of the speakers. When they asked why we had them I shared with them my dad's love for singing. So what happened next? We did what would have made my dad proud: we sang our hearts out. And we had the best time. This past Christmas I saw a bunch of those same friends and when one of them saw me, one of the first things he asked me was, "Hey, do you remember when we sang all those songs on your dad's speakers?! Does he still have those things?"

I never realized how much enjoyment those speakers provided. Who would've thought that 10 years after those things shook my bedroom walls as I did homework, they'd make me laugh and smile with so many rich memories?