singing american pie

I break into song at the slightest provocation.
OK, so oftentimes with no provocation.

When I was growing up, we just sang with gusto around house, in the car, wherever. I thought everyone did. Needless to say, I soon learned otherwise.

When my children were young, it humiliated them. As they grew, they responded with snide remarks, sneers and the reaching over to increase the volume of the car radio. Even as adults, that hasn’t changed.

What has changed is me. I no longer care. As I’ve gotten older, the opinion of others, including me darlin’ offspring, matter less...and less. I’ve now reached an age where Simon Cowell could be sitting before me, rolling his eyes and I doubt it would touch me.

I will add here that I have a pleasant enough alto voice. Think Karen Carpenter, with dashes of Ethel Merman and a sprinkle of Judy Garland. People—not related to me—have commented favorably.

This is a good, as I often handle story time duties in my bookstore kids department. And I sing. I find it easier to keep the kids’—and their parents’—attention. And I freely confess I enjoy it. The tunes are simple. The standard children stuff to which I add Puff the Magic Dragon and the Marvelous Toy, all books. I often require participation and receive it. Occasionally, I indulge my yen to play Adeline in Guys & Dolls by including Bushel and a Peck which is also now a children’s book.

Back to Don McLean’s American Pie, a VERY long narrative tune from back in the day, written as an ode –“The day the music died”-- commemorating the death of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper in that famous Feb. 3, 1959 plane crash.

When it comes on the car radio oldies station, I naturally sing along. If I get to where I’m going, I just keep sitting there, singing, until its done. (The same is true at traffic lights, by the way.) In the spirit of full disclosure, I add that I don’t just sit there, I emote.

Yupper, that’s me.
I’m that crazy lady sitting in her car singing out loud—and strong.

So sue me.