I used to listen to records with my mother when I was a younger child, seven or younger.
I knew of Placido Domingo and Herb Alpert. Johnny Mathis was a mainstay of summer weekdays and we'd listen to all of them together while she cleaned the house. She'd turn the volume up loud and smile...it was the only time I would ever see her smile that way...and I'd sometimes dance when there was no one else in the room in my clumsy way and close my eyes and try not to fall over. She had a proficient love for her records, and I learned the way that music moved her and wanted with all of my heart to smile the way she smiled when the turntable was spinning.
One Christmas in Hawaii we walked to the beach on the military base we lived on and built a sandman since we had no snow, and we came home and drank hot chocolate in the humid eighty-degree morning. I spilled my hot chocolate on the couch and after helping me mop it up with a damp towel, she played Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" on the record player and sat down and cried. For the longest time, I believed that I had ruined her Christmas that year and felt the vilest guilt over it that a child my age was capable of feeling, but eventually I came to understand that the music was reminding her of her childhood in the Pennsylvania snow that always fell in December.
And much like the smile she wore when we were alone with her music, I had never seen her cry like that and haven't ever since.
Mercifully, I never will again.
If you have a good relationship with your mom, don't let go of it. If you don't, don't give up.
Eaglebauer's Record Collection
I used to listen to records with my mother when I was a younger child, seven or younger.
I knew of Placido Domingo and Herb Alpert. Johnny Mathis was a mainstay of summer weekdays and we'd listen to all of them together while she cleaned the house. She'd turn the volume up loud and smile...it was the only time I would ever see her smile that way...and I'd sometimes dance when there was no one else in the room in my clumsy way and close my eyes and try not to fall over. She had a proficient love for her records, and I learned the way that music moved her and wanted with all of my heart to smile the way she smiled when the turntable was spinning.
One Christmas in Hawaii we walked to the beach on the military base we lived on and built a sandman since we had no snow, and we came home and drank hot chocolate in the humid eighty-degree morning. I spilled my hot chocolate on the couch and after helping me mop it up with a damp towel, she played Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" on the record player and sat down and cried. For the longest time, I believed that I had ruined her Christmas that year and felt the vilest guilt over it that a child my age was capable of feeling, but eventually I came to understand that the music was reminding her of her childhood in the Pennsylvania snow that always fell in December.
And much like the smile she wore when we were alone with her music, I had never seen her cry like that and haven't ever since.
Mercifully, I never will again.
If you have a good relationship with your mom, don't let go of it. If you don't, don't give up.
I'll miss you mom. Rest well.
1 year ago | [YT] | 2