There are a lot of links to music in this post, but then again, there is a lot of music to be heard
My earliest concert memory is vivid: an itchy wool coat, Mary-Jane shoes, and the front row of an Irish Rovers concert. I sat between my parents and beside my sister and wildly swung my skinny 10-year-old legs to songs I'd been listening to for years.
The merriment, the crowd, the sound of music so close; I loved it, I was hooked.
Neither of my parents played a musical instrument and I've never really heard them sing. But music? That was everywhere and all the time. Chinese opera, Irish folk songs, Elvis, Dolly Parton, Anne Murray, and so many more.
On the kitchen radio, in the car, on TV variety shows.
By sitting through endless school concerts (recorders, trumpets, clarinets, organs and choirs) and outside in cars at concerts like New Kids on the Block, they encouraged and helped grow our love of music.
It's something my sister and I shared (think Air Supply power ballads and Dirty Dancing inspired dance routines) and still share (when both visibly pregnant with our sons at an Indigo Girls concert, our seat mate asked when the brothers were due).
I've sung my children lullabies from our first moments together. Our house is filled with music and instruments. They've been to several concerts and ballets. They see us supporting admired artists by attending live shows. They dance with my husband as he plays his guitar.
And now, as I take my turn in the audience at music recitals, I hold onto hope they'll continue to love music and the way it connects us: to memories, to people, to ourselves.
The proof is in this clip. Watch. It's magic.
This post is for my parents. Thank you for every song.