An ode to my dad and his constant singing

My dad is always singing. Sometimes he hums. Sometimes it's just a few words of a chorus of a song I don't recognize because it's a song that is played on The Buzz and I wouldn't be caught dead listening to The Buzz. But he's not all alt-rock; one day not long ago it was a piece of At the Zoo by Simon and Garfunkel. Other times it's Pink Floyd or Elton John or cartoons or commercial jingles. Whatever it is, it's pretty constant.

My sister and I would always tell him to stop when we were younger, but now I'm not sure why. He was a trained singer; he's always on the right note. It didn't pain us particularly. But everything your dad does is embarrassing and you want him to stop, so you roll your eyes and ask him with pleading tones to stop.

I realize now that I am lucky to have a singing dad. He's the reason I love music. It's in his genes, it flows through his family, I have his piano in my living room right now, it is written in my baby book that I danced to his records as a toddler, and I probably sing in my car because he always sang. I have all those hummed tunes to thank for this particular obsession with always wanting to hear the right song for the right occasion and not ever wanting to hear terrible, soulless music because dad liked some really soulful, gut-wrenching stuff.

I can't sing in front of other people like he can and I'm a little jealous of that. The times I've tried have always been uncomfortable or haunt me. (Some of my schoolmates will likely remember me as the girl who sang Could've Been by Tiffany in the girls' locker room in junior high. Me! The girl who never, ever said a word to anyone was somehow urged by a couple of my friends to sing TIFFANY in the LOCKER ROOM in front of OTHER PEOPLE. The acoustics, as you might have imagined, were awesome.)

Anyway, dad, Happy Father's Day. Sing all you want from now on; you will get no more rolled eyes from me.

I don't want to leave you with the image of a scrawny young me singing schlocky teen pop in a damp locker room, so here are a few bands that my dad has managed to imprint on my brain, whether he meant to or not:

I cannot find a good video of Neil Diamond's America, which is a shame, but here's what I could come up with: