Me, Dad, and Jimmy
Every morning I used to race to the passenger side of my dad’s blue Dodge pickup, hoping to get in before he pulled out of the driveway. Breathless I threw my many bags into the backseat and said, “Let’s listen to Little Jimmy.” My dad would shake his head and start the c.d. player, switching to track number two. Floating from the speakers came our favorite song, the one we listened to every morning; “There’s a village, hidden deep in the valley.” Soon I was crooning along while Dad joined in on the chorus. It seems so surprising that we bonded over a country song from the 1930s, a song before either of our generations. As we pulled into the school parking lot, I bellowed out the last few words, and we both started to laugh. Little Jimmy in the Valley, actually titled the Three Bells, is our favorite song and will always connect me with my dad. I always entered the school smiling because I could never be cranky after listening to the life of Jimmy. Sometimes I’d switch Dad’s Country Classics c.d. to listen to Honeycomb or Sixteen Tons, but Jimmy remains my favorite. My dad and I will forever be connected by this simple country tune.
My dad loves to share his musical tastes with me and my two sisters. Usually it’s in the car where we are forced to listen to the entire country collection from 1930 to 1975. Ashley, the youngest, starts complaining immediately, but I don’t mind as I know he listens without complaint to our many musical selections. This summer during my infatuation with the movie Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights I introduced my parents to the great music of salsa dancing. I played the movie’s soundtrack and began sashaying around the kitchen with Sara and Ash. Before I knew it Dad came out of his office and started dancing too. Who knew he was a salsa dancer? He did a great mambo step and finished with a flick of his foot and a toss of his head. He might not have won any competitions for technique, but he had style.
Music is the thread that bonds me and my dad. We each have our different tastes, but we love each other enough to appreciate the others music. He’s shared his love of classic country and rock bands from the Seventies, and I force him to listen to my latest favorite. It doesn’t matter whether he is mad that I made him late for work or if I think he is being unrealistic about my organization skills, we can always come together over our love for Little Jimmy and his valley.
Every morning I used to race to the passenger side of my dad’s blue Dodge pickup, hoping to get in before he pulled out of the driveway. Breathless I threw my many bags into the backseat and said, “Let’s listen to Little Jimmy.” My dad would shake his head and start the c.d. player, switching to track number two. Floating from the speakers came our favorite song, the one we listened to every morning; “There’s a village, hidden deep in the valley.” Soon I was crooning along while Dad joined in on the chorus. It seems so surprising that we bonded over a country song from the 1930s, a song before either of our generations. As we pulled into the school parking lot, I bellowed out the last few words, and we both started to laugh. Little Jimmy in the Valley, actually titled the Three Bells, is our favorite song and will always connect me with my dad. I always entered the school smiling because I could never be cranky after listening to the life of Jimmy. Sometimes I’d switch Dad’s Country Classics c.d. to listen to Honeycomb or Sixteen Tons, but Jimmy remains my favorite. My dad and I will forever be connected by this simple country tune.
My dad loves to share his musical tastes with me and my two sisters. Usually it’s in the car where we are forced to listen to the entire country collection from 1930 to 1975. Ashley, the youngest, starts complaining immediately, but I don’t mind as I know he listens without complaint to our many musical selections. This summer during my infatuation with the movie Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights I introduced my parents to the great music of salsa dancing. I played the movie’s soundtrack and began sashaying around the kitchen with Sara and Ash. Before I knew it Dad came out of his office and started dancing too. Who knew he was a salsa dancer? He did a great mambo step and finished with a flick of his foot and a toss of his head. He might not have won any competitions for technique, but he had style.
Music is the thread that bonds me and my dad. We each have our different tastes, but we love each other enough to appreciate the others music. He’s shared his love of classic country and rock bands from the Seventies, and I force him to listen to my latest favorite. It doesn’t matter whether he is mad that I made him late for work or if I think he is being unrealistic about my organization skills, we can always come together over our love for Little Jimmy and his valley.
posted by Bridget Farr @ 8:20 PM
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