My daddy used to sing all the time.
Mama called it loud and obnoxious,
but me and Charlie
loved to hear him sing.
He’d sing in the morning
when he turned on our light
to wake us up for school,
and sometimes he’d sing in the evening
when he turned it off.
He was a good daddy
on the nights he sang.
I try not to think about
the nights he didn’t.
Your daddy had a
one-of-a-kind voice,
Aunt Bee says. Lucky he
passed it on to you.
She whispers the last words
like it’s something great to sing
like my daddy.
He was in a band once.
That’s how Mama met him.
He used to tell us the story
ate supper together,
how she showed up
the night his band
was playing at a bar
and he fell in love
as soon as he saw her.
He’d always wink at Mama
when he said that.