When I was a wee lad, there were many things my Dad would do that puzzled and baffled me at the time. Yelling at the TV when the Expos were losing. Scoring the baseball game on paper. Or how about organizing and usually losing the annual NHL Playoff pool. There’s also the comments he would make about the behaviour of celebraties and how he would scoff and scorn the idiotic self-absorbing prima-donna actions they would exhibit. And this was before E! TV et al. ran 24hr dedicated broadcasts committed to adoring and worshipping the decrapitude that is Hollywood.

But the thing that I remember most beyond the sageness, wisdom, profoundness, was his constant musical ambience. There was never a moment, literally, when my Dad wasn’t humming, whistling or singing a tune (especially when on a walk). Usually folk music but everyone does have their faults. He would often sing/whistle/hum the accompanyment (sp?) portions of the song (as Sonia calls ‘the backup’ parts) but would be also known to sing the lead. In fact, with his acoustic guitar in hand (he never really did like the Rock’n'Roll but sometimes I caught him humming to a Robyn Hitchcock dirge) Dad would play at church, in bands, and back home in Lafontaine when the brothers would get together for a good time (Note: I was sure to be tip-toeing around Memere’s house the next morning).

So, what brings back these memories? Well, on the way home from swimming lessons with OG, while singing ‘back-up’ to a some Boney M Christmas songs (in February) it dawned on me: I’m my Old Man! (Sidebar: BoneyM was one of the rare ‘new stuff’ my Dad enjoyed along with Neil Diamond, John Denver and Roger Whitaker). I was doing the ‘low-baritone’ stuff when it hit me like a brick. When I think about it, well, I believe I am more often than not singing, whistling, humming, improvising about 24 hrs a day at the sacrifice of Sonia and OG’s well-tuned ears. Yes, I am a toneless singer no doubt but I am always caught doing the ‘backup’ sounds to any and all songs. Admittedly my tastes are most definitely better than Dad’s: I listen to Neil Diamond, John Denver, Robyn Hitchcock AND Echo & the Bunnymen. But life has come full circle and here I am singing to OG constantly until she tells me to stop (often).

So let’s review the other stuff: the Expos are no more but I can sure get a serious debate going with the ole boob tube when a call doesn’t go my way. I discreetly scratch down the plays on the scorecard when at the Jays game, and contrary yet akin to the Old Guy I am a superstar at Fantasy Bball/Fball,etc. (boy would he have been into that stuff had it evolved into what it is now during his day). And man o man do I hate Hollywood.

And here I am now about to bring in that very same acoustic guitar to get it fixed up and tuned. I have classical piano experience but it’s time to follow those footsteps and learn some good ole’ pumpin folk music.

I often get teary thinking what an injustice it is that OG was unable to meet her Poppy. But what a crock that is. She sees her every day. Now if only I can convey a fraction of the wisdom and intelligence that set him apart from the rest.