Singing in the Shower

My father loves music almost as much as he loves food. But that's another blog for another day. Back to the music. My father, as I said, loves music. He has a natural "ear" (kind of a pun considering he's practically entirely deaf now) for music. In his prime he was an accomplished classical pianist, worshipped Horowitz (even stole away, as a teenager, to see Horowitz perform), and played some pretty mean jazz too. I remember when he and mom used to listen to classical pieces on our reel-to-reel and critique the musical composition, the technique, the tones, etc. One day, about four years ago, I asked my father a question that had been burning in my head for decades.
"Dad, how come you never played piano for other people?"
I had many childhood memories of listening to Dad doing piano exercises and repeating blocks of measures over and over again for hours at a time. But we were never allowed to be in the same room while he did this. I never asked why. We weren't really encouraged to ask for explanations.
So I asked him the question.
And, as is his style, Dad answered by telling a story.
It seems that, as a teenager, when he was studying piano, his teacher announced one day that there would be a recital for all students to perform their favorite pieces. Dad said he was elated to be able to share one of his favorite pasttimes (hockey and bodysurfing being the others) with friends and family.
He practiced and prepared. The day of the recital arrived. As he tells the story, he says he was waiting for his turn and felt fine. He was excited even...in a good way. But then, his name was called, he walked up to the piano, positioned himself on the bench, and....froze. He got up, left, and never played in front of people again. End of story.
I tried to ask, "But, but, didn't you....couldn't you have...." but he just shook his head.

But this blog is called "Singing in the Shower" so allow me to return to that.
My father loves music, was trained as a classical pianist, a classical guitarist, and learned to play the harmonica sometime during my pre-adolescence. My father also loves great singers. His favorite at the moment is Brian Stokes-Mitchell. Dad heard him sing "Some Enchanted Evening" from South Pacific and couldn't stop talking about it for days. So, yeah, my dad loves great singing. My father also loves to sing. However..........my father, although his pitch is near perfect.....does not have a singer's voice. At all. Nevertheless, there is something indescribably charming about listening to my father sing all of his favorites--traditional Polynesian songs, the area from Pagliacci, Matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof, Try to Remember from Fantasticks, and, my personal favorite, The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow from Annie (he hangs on that last phrase, "...you're only a dayyyyyyy aaaaaaa-......wayyyyyyyy!" like there's no tomorrow and makes me laugh every time).

Dad takes a shower about every other morning. Always in the morning. And Dad loves to sing all of his favorites in the shower. I'm always in my office, across from his bedroom, in the morning. Consequently, I am serenaded regularly by the sounds of my father singing in the shower. He keeps singing when he gets out of the shower. And he's usually buildling to some kind of crescendo by the time he wheels out of his room to go past my office door. It's glorious. It makes me smile, and sometimes laugh. I've even found myself singing in the shower. I figure if it perks him up so much, maybe it will work for me too. It does. I highly recommend it. Maybe if more people sang in the shower, the world would be a little bit cheerier.