“Walk my way, and a thousand violins begin to play...”
His voice was mellow and soft, and I knew I’d never grow tired of hearing it - and that’s a good thing because singing is just part of who Michael is.
Sometimes I look over at him when we’re going for a long drive, and I notice his lips are moving and little bursts of sound are erupting from him. He notices and smiles at me:
“Just singing in my head,” he says and goes back to his song.
At our wedding reception he sang “If” by Bread; when our children were born, he sang the sweetest lullabies you’d ever want to hear; and when a dear friend died too young, he sang Billy Joel’s “Lullaby”:
“Good night, my angel, now it’s time to sleep...”
Every once in a while he sings with me - in the car only and usually when it’s Christmas time because my voice is more acclimated to the literature I learned in St. Mary’s choir - where, full disclosure, the choir director frequently put her fingers to her lips to advise me to lessen my volume on this note or that one. As a songstress close to me once said of my vocal skills:
“A singer you’re not.”
All the more reason I appreciate Michael’s gift - one he gave to both our kids who spent their k-12 elective choices in school music programs - and, afterwards, sang a little here and there on stage and off.
Michael’s sister has a beautiful voice, and their paternal grandfather, Mo, was offered a scholarship to La Scala - which he turned down for love, as the story goes - a love that didn't last long. We can only guess what Mo thought about all that.
At any rate, Mo’s gift was passed on to his progeny (skipping a generation from what I understand), and that has given me my crooner - my singing husband, a gentle tenor who has sung in musicals, bands, churches, synagogues, and VFW halls. Though he jokingly says his best audience is his car.
Sometimes I hear him in his old VW convertible in the morning when he’s returning from his workout at the Y. The Eagles are on and he’s belting ”Takin it Easy” while pulling into the driveway. I love that.
I have so many memories of Michael singing.
I can picture him with our first child in his arms, swirling around the room to ABBA’S “Dancing Queen.”
“Mama said I was a dancer before I could walk;
she said I learned how to sing long before I could talk.”
Or I can see him with our son, who was about 9 at the time and just learning how strong his own voice was. They sang “Somewhere Out There” to an audience of 200 at a local church celebration - there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.
Michael has sung us through some of our most beautiful moments and some of our most difficult ones. He’s sung with our nephew, a professional, and our dear friend Charlie - a folkie, bar singer back in the day. He sang in a band in Key West when stationed there for US Navy sonar school, and he sang “Silent Night” for my mother every Christmas.
He’s known as Bobby D to his bandmates - a Bobby Darin reference - and as one of their soloists, he helped the Cox Cable Company earn first place three years in a row at the National Cable Convention’s Battle of the Bands. The first year, Paul Allen and his band from Microsoft placed only second - that sweetened the victory for Cox’s entire group - “Xpanded Bandwidth” - but especially for Michael, the oldest member, who had just turned 64.
He’s retired now, and hasn’t sung in public for a few years. So that may be why I felt his recent performance at a local, house concert in my bones.
“When the evening shadows and the stars appear.
And there is no one there to dry your tears,
I will hold you for a million years,
To make you feel my love.”
And still, after 41 years together, a thousand violins began to play.
“Just singing in my head,” he says and goes back to his song.
At our wedding reception he sang “If” by Bread; when our children were born, he sang the sweetest lullabies you’d ever want to hear; and when a dear friend died too young, he sang Billy Joel’s “Lullaby”:
“Good night, my angel, now it’s time to sleep...”
Every once in a while he sings with me - in the car only and usually when it’s Christmas time because my voice is more acclimated to the literature I learned in St. Mary’s choir - where, full disclosure, the choir director frequently put her fingers to her lips to advise me to lessen my volume on this note or that one. As a songstress close to me once said of my vocal skills:
“A singer you’re not.”
All the more reason I appreciate Michael’s gift - one he gave to both our kids who spent their k-12 elective choices in school music programs - and, afterwards, sang a little here and there on stage and off.
Michael’s sister has a beautiful voice, and their paternal grandfather, Mo, was offered a scholarship to La Scala - which he turned down for love, as the story goes - a love that didn't last long. We can only guess what Mo thought about all that.
At any rate, Mo’s gift was passed on to his progeny (skipping a generation from what I understand), and that has given me my crooner - my singing husband, a gentle tenor who has sung in musicals, bands, churches, synagogues, and VFW halls. Though he jokingly says his best audience is his car.
Sometimes I hear him in his old VW convertible in the morning when he’s returning from his workout at the Y. The Eagles are on and he’s belting ”Takin it Easy” while pulling into the driveway. I love that.
I have so many memories of Michael singing.
I can picture him with our first child in his arms, swirling around the room to ABBA’S “Dancing Queen.”
“Mama said I was a dancer before I could walk;
she said I learned how to sing long before I could talk.”
Or I can see him with our son, who was about 9 at the time and just learning how strong his own voice was. They sang “Somewhere Out There” to an audience of 200 at a local church celebration - there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.
Michael has sung us through some of our most beautiful moments and some of our most difficult ones. He’s sung with our nephew, a professional, and our dear friend Charlie - a folkie, bar singer back in the day. He sang in a band in Key West when stationed there for US Navy sonar school, and he sang “Silent Night” for my mother every Christmas.
He’s known as Bobby D to his bandmates - a Bobby Darin reference - and as one of their soloists, he helped the Cox Cable Company earn first place three years in a row at the National Cable Convention’s Battle of the Bands. The first year, Paul Allen and his band from Microsoft placed only second - that sweetened the victory for Cox’s entire group - “Xpanded Bandwidth” - but especially for Michael, the oldest member, who had just turned 64.
He’s retired now, and hasn’t sung in public for a few years. So that may be why I felt his recent performance at a local, house concert in my bones.
And there is no one there to dry your tears,
I will hold you for a million years,
To make you feel my love.”
"Make You Feel My Love," by Bob Dylan. Sung by Michael and Mary with Bob on keyboards.
