“For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart…”
Doctrine and Covenants 25:12
My brother, Todd, used to sing a song
to the tune of God Bless America. It went like this:
God bless my underwear, my only pair…
It
was sung several times in a row, with the voice raising in tone as he sang “my
only pair” and holding the last syllable. I can not listen to “God Bless
America” without snickering and thinking of him.
Where does this come from that causes
one to pause and reflect just when we think we have forgotten them? My brother
died over 25 years ago and I still grin in church, almost irreverently,
when this song is sung.
My dear friend Billy told about his
aunt who was extra large. Her husband loved her very much. However, according
to Billy, whenever she would come down the stairs, this uncle would sing to the
tune of the annual Miss America Pageant theme song,
Here she comes, Miss America…representing
all 50 States.
Every Breath You Take
Speaking of Billy: We were driving
together on the Golden State Freeway (I-5) in 1983 listening to the rock group,
Police, sing Sting’s new hit, Every Breath You Take when I foolishly
decided to out run a CHP (California Highway Patrol). Needless to say, my kids
were literally aghast when they heard this story, knowing how obsessively,
law-abiding I am. Billy had to pick up a delivery in the company truck. He took
me with him to the city of Bell. I drove the way back to work, Chef America in Sylmar. To this day, I can’t hear that song
without thinking about this incident.
Like I said, Sting was playing his
song. The beat was wonderful. We were in the lane closer to the left. I saw the
officer in the near-right-hand lane. All of a sudden this urge begged me to see
if I could out-run a CHP! Of course he pulled me over. Fortunately the officer
had a good sense of humor. He gave a
I-know-what-you-were-doing-and-I-know-you-are-close-to-my-age-and-just-having-fun-but…glean
in his eyes as he gave me a minor ticket. Whew!
We never said a word to anyone. My step-mom
was an office person for this same company. They were the original makers of
the now-famous Hot Pocket sandwiches.
One day, she asked in a sly-knowing tone, “So, how’d you get the ticket?” OH MY
WORD! How could I think she would NOT find out! I explained and all was
forgiven. Except that now I do not like that song. Not only does it remind me
of how stupid I was, but it reminds of a stalker.
Two of my dad’s favorite songs were Rock of
Ages and How Great Thou Art. He wanted them sung at my mission
farewell. They reminded him of his mother. I was 21 and did not like those two
songs! I felt that since this was my event, only songs that I really
appreciated would be performed. Here I was, getting ready to serve the Lord,
and I did not even have the compassion to allow my own father to play two
pieces that held the utmost sentimentally to him. I am not sure where I gave
in, but in the end, my dad played How Great Thou Art on his guitar. I
was going to South Carolina and they were standards in that part of the
country. They, too, have become two of my favorite pieces of music; the
meanings going far deeper than the original meanings were meant to. Sentiments
from my grandmother who had long ago passed on, and then guilt and remorse for
the way I treated my father.
Coming from the West where the music
was sung at a faster tempo, I had difficulty keeping up with the slower tempo
when I first arrived in Gaffney, South Carolina. In an effort to blend in, I
joined the church choir. I was frequently singled out in front of the others to
stay on key. On one particularly memorable Sunday, I sang with all of my heart,
wondering at the upturned, concerned looks from the audience. After church the
choir director asked me not to sing with the choir. Dejected, I walked away,
determined not to sing in public again. I never have.
I
think that too much emphasis is put on the greatness of those who can sing.
Yes, it is a talent that I wish that I could have. But I also think that true
greatness comes from one’s other talents such as integrity, courage, and
fortitude. Too many people can sing a song who have no depth. Not a lot of
people with depth can sing. It makes one wonder at where society’s values lie.
It took having a granddaughter who can actually carry a tune to finally
take me out of my shell – sort. I will sing with her in front of a couple of
people – only as encouragement for her.
The beauty of technology is that it allows
us to recapture a long, lost favorite song. There have been several for me. One
in particular is the theme song from the hit series, M*A*S*H*. I hear that song
and am transported to another time and place from here. I am still a teen-ager
living in Mission Hills, California. My younger brothers, who are either dead
or larger men with children of their own, are still little boys doing whatever
they would do at the time.
From the first notes of the opening scenes, a
feeling of well-being enveloped us. When I hear the opening music, I suddenly
feel as if I’m still in the late 1970’s, early 1980’s. We would do our chores,
get something to eat, and go to the bathroom during the “commercial.”
For
our neighborhood at the corner of Tuba and Noble Avenue, the world revolved
around M*A*S*H* - and sports. Every night around 7:00 or 7:30 we had to watch
it. If Frank Burns was going to be in it, the show was sure to be good. We
watched M*A*S*H* during the week and then we would go to the hockey games and
look for the actors there. Jamie Farr, who played “Clinger,” would sit near the
ice, usually with his driver. Occasionally, a young kid who looked like his son
would sit next to him. Jamie Farr would drink coffee with his driver. We
watched this exchange using Billy’s dad’s binoculars.
As a result, my own kids grew up watching the show. When my kids were
younger, we would watch it on DVD’s. I could close my eyes while the music was
playing and I would be 15 or 16 years old again. We bought the entire series.
When my daughter had children, her oldest started watching it. Whenever she
would hear the theme song, she stopped whatever she was doing and moved her
hands as if she was leading the orchestra. Late one night I realized that I
could probably buy a copy from amazon.com. Incredible! So we downloaded it to
the computer and then onto the mp3 player. Every time I would play the song for
Lizzy, she would stop whatever she was doing and look in awe and then lead the
“orchestra.”The song soothes me like a lullaby to a place that is only
available in my memory.
Loretta Switt played Margaret Hulahan.
Margaret reminded me of Judy Schumacher, except that Margaret had blonde hair
and Judy’s was dark brown. Judy, like Margaret, could put a person in their
place without any effort. I can also see myself as Margaret – in charge and
bossy. Billy’s mom was bossy because of her protective, mother bear-like
qualities. I was bossy because I, too, had protective, mother bear-like
qualities as I continued to watch over my children and grandchildren.
Billy reminded me of BJ Hunicutt and
Hawkey Pierce. BJ was the peace-maker and Hawkeye was the leader of the group
and always into mischief. He and
Margaret continually butted heads all the while maintaining a high level of
respect and occasional romance.
Kelli McDonald
2013
Petula Clark
Dancing
with my granddaughters to her music one summer morning, I remembered with such
fondness of the year we moved back to Longmont, Colorado. It was early Fall
1975. We were too poor to afford a television set. Dad set up the record player
with a stack of records that played what seemed like on and on and on. Petula
Clark’s music was part of that stack.
Being
able to stay on key is not one of my strengths. But I would belt out those
songs as if I was a super star on stage. Pity the poor soul who was in earshot
as my voice reverberated:
My love is warmer than the warmest
sunshine
Softer than a sigh.
My love is deeper than the deepest ocean
Wider than the sky.
My love is brighter than the brightest
star
That shines every night above
And there is nothing in this world
Than can ever change my love.
(Terius Nash, Tony Hatch)
Several years later we moved
back to California. My high school sweetheart, Billy, became the target for
these lyrics as I professed my undying love and devotion to him by singing those
words to an unseen audience.
The morning my grandchildren and
I spent dancing and singing to this, my dad was gradually slipping from us. My
voice choked at the memory. Rare is it that I will sing out loud because I
know what I sound like and have issues about inflicting unnecessary
pain on innocent people, especially children. Listening to the likes of
“Downtown” and its message of hope if one just went “downtown” to view the
sites. One might even find an opportunity to help another, thus making everything
better. I wanted to make things better for my father.
Feelin’
Groovy
Hello Lamppost, what ya knowin’?
I come to watch your flowers growin’
Just walking round the cobblestones.
Life is groovy
(Simon & Garfunkle)
I still see Blake singing those
words with Dad. He’s this cute little guy trying so hard to be like his father.
Dad is strumming his acoustic guitar. Bake focusing on staying on tune, not
more than ten years old.
And then I
hear,
The Mademoisell from Armetieres “Parley voo”
The Mademoisell from Armetieres, “Parley voo”
The Mademoiselle fro Armetieres
She hadn’t been kissed for forty years
Hinky stink parley voo.
Todd is singing with a
swaggering attitude and pretending to play a guitar, his head cocked up and his
eyes rolled skyward, his tongue curled. All the while Dad is accompanying him.
And instead of singing, Hinky Dinky
“Parley Voo” as the song suggests, they would sing, Inky Stinky, “Parley Vooooo.”
Kelli McDonald
2013
