I grew up singing. Not in a choir, or formally, but just whenever. Around the house, walking down the street, driving, in the shower, doing the dishes, all of those are good times for a song. Whenever a song hits me, I usually sing it. One of the best compliments I ever received was a friend who mused, “I always thought musicals were unreal, all those people bursting into song at every moment. Then I met you.” My singing voice isn’t particularly good, but it’s fairly on pitch, plus I can remember a lot of words and I’m very enthusiastic. My friends in high school were wonderful in so many ways, but I think my favorite thing about them was that they too burst into song at random moments. One sunny afternoon we were just sitting around downstairs when suddenly Cindy started beating out a rhythm on her leg. Enough of us recognized it as the intro to “Cathy’s Clown” and we hit our first note and were off and running. “Don’t want your luh-uh-uh-uh-ove, any-more…” We sang through the song, with Cindy taking a guitar arpeggio here and there. Our rendition was good enough to bring my mother from the laundry room, smiling at our crazy youthful theatrics. We were smiling too.
Where I match a song to a specific memory.