The Song That Never Gets Old

Several months ago, I asked my 88-year-old dad to sing at my son’s wedding reception.  A once accomplished nightclub singer, my dad and his brother Joe delighted audiences by singing the old songs night after night to those that sang along such classics as “Bye Bye Blackbird” and “When Irish Eyes are Smiling.”  My dad loved to perform.  In all my growing up years, I remember with enchantment when my dad picked up a microphone and played the black piano keys.  He couldn’t read a note of music, but his musical presence dominated any room any time.Old age has slowed my dad.  His unsteady gait requires him to use a rolling walker, so that frequently his need to “take a break” while walking at a snail’s pace is facilitated by the built in padded seat.  To say my dad is hard of hearing is like saying the pope is Catholic.  Despite new hearing aid batteries, we are left to speak with sold out concert volume in order for him to hear.  Outings need ample allotted time for bathroom breaks, and often my dad’s failing memory lends him to forget we even have an outing date at all.In preparation for his a Cappella rendition of an old Irish ballad tweaked to welcome his new granddaughter-in-law, my dad and I “practiced” his song the week before the wedding. One too many times I heard, “I don’t remember the next line,” or “What it is you want me to do again?”  Finally, I gave up trying to micromanage the situation thinking his presence alone at the wedding reception was gift enough given his increasingly fragile health.When it came time for my dad to sing his song at the reception, he stood.  Immediately my brother was at his side, supporting him and remaining there in case he became too unsteady, to which my dad looked at my brother and graciously asked the “fine gentleman” to remove himself.  My eyes grew wide as his rediscovered stamina was evident. We were all checked.

My dad continued, microphone in hand. “I’m supposed to do something, and as soon as I remember what it is I’ll do it.” Followed by a giggle. I thought to my self, “Oh no…” to which my dad added, “I’m only kidding.”

I was checked again. Silly me for thinking my elderly father had lost his ability to command a room, own the microphone, and engage everyone present. He went on to sing the Irish ballad with the new bride by his side. Tears moistened our eyes as the gentleness of his song flowed from the aged vocal chords connecting everyone in the room, welcoming the newest member of our family, “Gramps style.”I learned something that day. I realized how easy it is to put an elderly person in a box, limit them to their frailties, and expect nothing from them as their need for assistance grows. Take them out of that old person’s world and put them in the spotlight of whatever their talents are, and you see new light and new life exude from their wrinkled faces and stooped posture.My dad’s song was the highlight of the reception. The memory of his commanding presence is permanently etched in this daughter’s heart. I can only hope to give the gift of myself in such a profound way at the age of 88. I can’t wait until the next wedding.