My mom is a musician. There weren’t any instruments in our house when I was growing up. My mom didn’t play the violin or strum the guitar. As a teenager she did play a bit of piano. Mom often spoke of that period in her life. There was a piano in the small flat that she shared with her parents and five sisters. Mom took a few lessons and learned a bit but the piano was left behind when her family had to move. But make no mistake, my mom is a musician.
What did she play? My mom played records. When the record player wasn’t spinning she’d be playing WNEW-AM. When the radio wasn’t on mom would be the music. While our dad was at work, mom ran the house. In the tireless fashion of women of her generation she cooked and cleaned and got us dressed and off to school on time every day. And all the while mom would be singing. She had an absolutely beautiful voice, it was expressive and sad and soulful. Mom couldn’t just carry a tune, often she would be the tune. To be a effective singer one really has to feel the music, and man did my mom ever feel it! It’s one thing to have chops as a musician but to really stand out you’ve got to have soul and a true love for the material. My mom had all of that and more. I truly believe that given the opportunity, my mom could have been a professional singer.
Mom’s greatest hits ran the gamut of the best pop and jazz singers of her generation. Ella Fitzgerald, Lena Horne, Sarah Vaughn, Barbara Streisand, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Tony Bennet, Johnny Mathis and of course, The Chairman Of the Board, O’l Blue Eyes himself, Frank Sinatra. To say that my mom worshiped Sinatra does not do justice to the depth of her love for Frank’s music. Mom’s take on the melancholy Shadow Of Your Smile was heartbreaking. When she’d get into Fly Me To The Moon, she could swing with the best of them. Years ago when I heard of Sinatra’s passing I immediately called mom. She was crying.
Of course as a kid I never liked any of mom’s music. A child of the 60’s, I was all about The Beatles and The Stones and Motown. Sinatra? Ella? Streisand? Give me a break! But all the while I was listening. Like a sponge my young mind was soaking up every note, storing them away for future use. It took me well into adulthood to finally appreciate these songs for what they are: timeless and enduring classics of American music. One of my most memorable concert experiences ever was seeing Ella Fitzgerald perform in San Francisco shortly before her death. If only my mom could have been there with me.
I’ve been a Giants baseball fan ever since moving to the San Francisco area. I go to lots of games. After every Giants victory a collage of iconic San Francisco locations is projected onto the huge scoreboard above the outfield. Accompanying this video is Tony Bennet’s signature tune I Left My Heart In San Francisco. I always sing along at the top of my voice and imagine my mom singing there beside me.
Because of my mom I too have become a musician. I have a great ear for music. I play guitar, sing, write songs and have recorded two cds of original music. Throughout my long career as a teacher, my classroom was always filled with music. I can’t imagine my life without music. Music is the greatest gift that my mom has ever given to me, it’s a gift that keeps on giving.
Our daughter Denali is eighteen years old and about to graduate high school. When she was little I’d come into her room and often hear her humming these soft, lilting melodies. There was never any set tune to her singing and no two tunes were alike. I believe that this was a subconscious act, I don’t think Denali even realized that she was singing. Just like my mom who was always singing around the house, our daughter was doing the same. A part of my mom, the musician, that lives on in her granddaughter.
Mom is 92 now, in failing health with advancing dementia. She doesn’t sing much anymore. Mom is currently at a long term care facility, rehabbing from a recent stay in the hospital. It was a sobering sight to see her the other day, looking so frail and lost sitting in her wheelchair. I sat down beside mom, kissed her then pulled out my phone. I dialed up the Mom’s Mix playlist that I had made especially for this visit, held the phone to her ear and pressed “play”. As soon as the opening notes of Fly Me To The Moon came through the speaker, mom changed. Her face lit up in a beatific smile and she began to sing. Frank Sinatra’s voice and my mom’s voice became one. Of course she knew all of the words. Like I said, my mom is a musician.