My Favorite Singer
My first ever favorite singer was my dad. Sweet of me, but it was my dad. He was the first one I remember singing. I would hear things on the radio or record player, but I probably heard my father first. He sang all the time. On the tractor (we were farmers), in the pickup, at church, in the living room, often with me on his lap as he did so.
Once my mother brought some things down from the attic that had been stored. One was a beat up old guitar, scarred and partly broken. I wanted to learn to play it, but he didn't teach me. It turns out that he used to dream of being a Country singer. Then the war broke out, then he had a family.
He used to be the most requested solo singer in church, and when they formed a Gospel quartet, big thing in those days, he was always the lead singer. I was proud of my dad and loved hearing him sing publicly. Easily the songs moved me to tears.
I visited him a couple of months ago, semi-invalid, and he had just found an old casette tape. It was of a quartet his church had with him in the lead role. I had forgotten how good his voice was. I would have been shocked that it was my dad it sounded so well done, even though not from a studio. It gave me the opportunity to tell my boys some of the stories of having him as a dad growing up.
Ten years ago he gave my oldest son his war medals. Medals he had won as an ace pilot in World War II. Among them was the Distinguished Flying Cross. I knew my dad was a war hero and used to look at his war scrapbook quite a bit. But I did not know until I saw the Distinguished Flying Cross in the box of medals he gave my son, that he had been that decorated. He also gave his captains bars.
Later Stephen Ambrose wrote a book on B24 bomber squadrons. My dad's was not mentioned, but some were that he flew in conjunction with. I bought four copies of that book and had my father autograph it.
Me and the boys went to see him this past weekend. He wasn't doing well and seemed to be suffering. He couldn't eat anymore for the last two monts, just after I saw him last, and was feeding with an IV directly to his stomach. My half brother had bought him Stephen Ambroses B24 book, Wild Blue Yonder, read on CD for him to listen to as he was now bed ridden.
My dad, my first ever favorite singer died this afternoon. I just wanted to pay tribute to him.
My oldest son last year had given him a model of a B24, which my dad immediately had mounted and placed next to a picture of him with us near Corsicana where he was born. It was in front of an old sharecropper's house that had been his grandfathers.
My youngest loves baseball and told him last Saturday that he would get two hits for him. My dad's last night on earth, my son delivered. Two hits, a single and a double, knocking in two runs to win the game. When we got the news today of my father's death he cried and cried and cried. He said he didn't get to tell him that he fulfilled his promise. He hugged me and begged me not to die before I reach a hundred. My oldest said that it might be better to die rather than be a vegetable. My youngest made me promise to live even as a vegetable. He hates good-bye. But we made him understand that he's with grandma again. Singing to her and Jesus all those Gospel songs he used to sing to me growing up. And I knew that he was probably one of Jesus' favorite singers come home.
Once my mother brought some things down from the attic that had been stored. One was a beat up old guitar, scarred and partly broken. I wanted to learn to play it, but he didn't teach me. It turns out that he used to dream of being a Country singer. Then the war broke out, then he had a family.
He used to be the most requested solo singer in church, and when they formed a Gospel quartet, big thing in those days, he was always the lead singer. I was proud of my dad and loved hearing him sing publicly. Easily the songs moved me to tears.
I visited him a couple of months ago, semi-invalid, and he had just found an old casette tape. It was of a quartet his church had with him in the lead role. I had forgotten how good his voice was. I would have been shocked that it was my dad it sounded so well done, even though not from a studio. It gave me the opportunity to tell my boys some of the stories of having him as a dad growing up.
Ten years ago he gave my oldest son his war medals. Medals he had won as an ace pilot in World War II. Among them was the Distinguished Flying Cross. I knew my dad was a war hero and used to look at his war scrapbook quite a bit. But I did not know until I saw the Distinguished Flying Cross in the box of medals he gave my son, that he had been that decorated. He also gave his captains bars.
Later Stephen Ambrose wrote a book on B24 bomber squadrons. My dad's was not mentioned, but some were that he flew in conjunction with. I bought four copies of that book and had my father autograph it.
Me and the boys went to see him this past weekend. He wasn't doing well and seemed to be suffering. He couldn't eat anymore for the last two monts, just after I saw him last, and was feeding with an IV directly to his stomach. My half brother had bought him Stephen Ambroses B24 book, Wild Blue Yonder, read on CD for him to listen to as he was now bed ridden.
My dad, my first ever favorite singer died this afternoon. I just wanted to pay tribute to him.
My oldest son last year had given him a model of a B24, which my dad immediately had mounted and placed next to a picture of him with us near Corsicana where he was born. It was in front of an old sharecropper's house that had been his grandfathers.
My youngest loves baseball and told him last Saturday that he would get two hits for him. My dad's last night on earth, my son delivered. Two hits, a single and a double, knocking in two runs to win the game. When we got the news today of my father's death he cried and cried and cried. He said he didn't get to tell him that he fulfilled his promise. He hugged me and begged me not to die before I reach a hundred. My oldest said that it might be better to die rather than be a vegetable. My youngest made me promise to live even as a vegetable. He hates good-bye. But we made him understand that he's with grandma again. Singing to her and Jesus all those Gospel songs he used to sing to me growing up. And I knew that he was probably one of Jesus' favorite singers come home.
posted by CottonSr @ 8:07 PM
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