Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Monday, April 22, 2013

Singing as We Go



Dad. He of the wondrous voice.

My Dad loves to sing.
Fortunately, for the rest of us, he has a very nice voice.
And great rhythm.
It's just his timing that needs work.
Let me explain . . .
When one lived as far from civilization as we did, 'going somewhere' inevitably involved . . . well . . . travelling.
For extended periods of time.
I'd like to point out here, that wonderful inventions like DS's, cell phones , IPads and the all-important DVD players existed only in science fiction. Our entertainment consisted of visiting, looking out the window, and books.
Or, in my case, just visiting or looking out the window. Reading in a car, though perhaps my favorite diversion, unavoidably made me carsick.
Ugh. Carsick. Wait . . . how did I get here . . .?
Oh, right. Dad . . . and singing.
Whenever we travelled, there was always that stretch of road (I know you've been there), usually somewhere in the middle, where we ran out of conversation and the scenery got boring.
And everyone in the car, driver included, got sleepy.
That's when Dad would start to sing.
At full volume.
He really only had one.
See what I mean about timing . . .?
His family was treated to such classics as, "Who Put the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy's Chowder". Or, "My Diane" (my personal favorite), "Two Little Boys" (which always made me cry), "Daisy", or the ever popular, "The Doors Swing In and the Doors Swing Out".
Usually, Mom would also join in.
Suffice it to say that, before us kids could carry on a lucid conversation, we could sing. We didn't always know what we were singing, and our school teachers sometimes questioned the suitability of a song that took place almost entirely within a saloon ("The Doors Swing In . . ." - see above.)
But that's beside the point . . .
We were in tune and definitely had the words right.
Or at least as right as Dad did.
It wasn't until some years later that I realized my Dad used . . . poetic license. One day, I was singing "Two Little Boys" while I cleaned out a pen in the barn. Unbeknownst (real word!) to me, Dad was leaning on the fence in the far corner, listening.
I got to one line and just did what he had always done. "Da Da Da Da Da Da Dum Dee."
He burst out laughing.
When I spun around and glared at him accusingly, he told me that he'd been waiting for me to get to that line so he could finally hear what the real words were. He had never been able to remember and had just put in 'placer' lyrics.
I had memorized them accordingly.
Scary, isn't it that we pick up what we are taught . . . mistakes and all?
I've wandered from the point.
Again.
Now, whenever I drive along a road that Dad took us down, or even a road that resembles a road that . . .
I remember. Feeling happily sleepy. And that beautiful baritone voice, suddenly belting out the lyrics to some song that probably only Dad remembered.
Or possibly that Dad made up.
But so soothing to us denizens of the back seat.
Though in his 89th year, my Dad still drives.
And sings.
Wait, he's started, "Cause Some Dirty Dog Put Glue on the Saddle".
I have to go . . .

10 comments:

  1. Make sure you memorize the words.

    ReplyDelete
  2. So great. I have similar memories with my dad and music--his harmonica and Ghost Riders in the Sky ;).

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ahhh! Harmonicas. I LOVE harmonicas! You are SO lucky!

      Delete
  3. Love that bearded lady; 'Cause her whiskers tickle so...

    ReplyDelete
  4. Songs were better then, weren't they? Imagine the whole family singing Satisfaction - or perhaps a rap song - while out on a long drive :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. My dad didn't sing, but played harmonica and accordion, while we kids danced around the yard in the summer or the kitchen in the winter, every Saturday evening.
    We do pick up what we are taught, I remember dad couldn't get the word "biro" (ballpoint pen)correct and always said "borrow". My sister and I thought that borrow was the word for pen until some kids at school teased us for it. I learned biro from them, but my sister had a hard time changing and even now, at 64, still says "borrow" sometimes.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Harmonica! How I love the harmonica! Thank you so much for sharing this! I love to hear about your memories! I'll never look at a ballpoint pen the same way . . . :)

      Delete

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