Wee me, sat at the organ, likely trying to please my grandfather. He was musical. He played the organ and the trumpet and heaven knows what else. His mother was an opera singer. He listened to opera and big band music almost exclusively. I’d tell you that might be why I love big band music, but I pretty much hate opera, even THE opera, which is a dereliction in duty to my heritage and my overall appreciation of the arts, but nonetheless, it’s true.
It was easy to please my grandfather, because he only had three granddaughters in a slew of grandsons and while we all know no one favors specific children, he did call me Little One.
I learned to poorly play many songs on the piano, but my memory of the organ is with Grandpa and Silent Night. G-A-G-E, G-A-G-EEE…
I could tell you a lot of stories about my grandfather, and might some day. They don’t make men like that anymore.
Yes, I was a punkin, thank you for noticin.
Please note I was wearin pajamas and a coat, but no socks. I assume my father dressed me on that day. I’ve been told my mother too often dressed me warmly, and my father would come home and find me fussy and sweaty and after he’d stripped me down I’d be a much happier baby. He told me this after I had my first baby. “Don’t let your mother dress her. Unless you’re going to Siberia.”
My father was not a reliable narrator when it came to my mother, but I believe him about this bit, because my mother is Southern by birth, and is one of those people who tans in the shade and is always cold when it’s warm, and clearly she’s an alien to me in these ways.
While mothers are required to fold a blanket at the end of your bed or tell you to take a sweater, my mother believed I would catch my death if I caught a chill.
Perhaps we left for Grandma’s house early in the morning and they didn’t want to fuss with me too much so I would fall back to sleep in the car and not drive them crazy.
Anyway, I could, if I rummaged around, find you a photo of me twenty-some years later, wearing blue velvet pajamas to my aunt’s house on Christmas night. I think I wore actual shoes, maybe clogs, maybe even socks, but I know without doubt I totally wore pajamas and a coat to her house that night. Where I played poker, not the organ. And I ain’t any better at cards.