My father was a world traveler and a lover of many things, among which was music. Before he joined the Color Country Chorus of St. George, or ever sang in barbershop quartets, he played the acoustic guitar. One of my earliest childhood memories—is of my father—strumming his six-string and serenading us at bedtime. The tender ballads he sang brought tears to my eyes, routinely.
The two songs I remember most are “Lightning Express,” also known as "Please Mr. Conductor," and “Put My Little Shoes Away.” I later learned that both songs were early 20th-century country ballads covered and harmonized by the Everly Brothers, Don and Phil Everly, in their 1958 album, “Songs Our Daddy Taught Us.”
As I reflect on the many things my father taught me, I am again drawn back to my childhood. When I was five, we lived in a high-rise apartment on Hong Kong Island. One night, as we were walking through the parking lot, he stopped. Pointing up to the night sky, he showed me how to identify the Big Dipper. That was the first time I remember seeing stars, and my fascination with astronomy was born.
When Haley’s comet made its appearance in 1986, he calculated the optimum viewing opportunity with minimal light pollution and cloud cover. We strapped on our motorcycle helmets, and I held on tightly as we rode up to Victoria Peak at 2 a.m. on a school night. I was the luckiest 11-year-old on the planet!
Acclaimed American novelist, John Gregory Brown, once wrote:
"There’s something like a line of gold thread running through a man’s words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself."
Now, as I am older, and my father has “slipped the surly bonds of Earth,” these words ring ever true.
One of my earliest childhood memories—is of my father—strumming his six-string and serenading us at bedtime.