Me and Dad and Frank

There's a game on Facebook where you tag a friend, asking him or her to share the 10 albums that had the greatest influence on their musical tastes. I'm an easy mark for such things, so when I was tagged, I complied.

This was one of my choices.* In the post, I recalled how I picked it up from the "cutout" bin for less than $2, and it changed my life. Sinatra and Cole Porter: two authentic American geniuses.

My aunt responded to my post saying she remembered listening to my dad's copy of this album when I was still a toddler and she babysat me.

Huh? I was still living at home when I bought this! He must have heard Francis' silky tones through my door. After all, he complained (at least) daily that I played my records too loud.

Why didn't he tell me he already owned this LP? Why didn't he tell me which songs he especially liked?

I remember my dad as mostly mad. Angry at "them." The hippies who won't bathe. The welfare scammers who won't work. The blacks who want "too much, too soon." The libbers who want to be men. The liberals who run the media and led the conspiracy to "get" Nixon.

He lectured. He growled. He harrumphed. I couldn't even enjoy a Cub game with him because he'd fixate on the fumbled double play, innings after it happened.

So my aunt's comment made me sad. Wouldn't it have been nice if my dad and I could have talked about what made Sinatra and Cole Porter so enduring and so great? That would have been a nice memory.

*This wasn't the cover of the LP I had. Mine was peach and featured a line art portrait of Sinatra.