My fondest memories of my childhood, are weekend mornings spent with my father. He used to whip out the mic and announce to the household that we were in for a musical morning. This used to get me thoroughly excited, and within minutes I would be rummaging through the tapes at home to find a blank one to record on. The rest of the morning, would be spent singing every song I knew, and all the songs I'd picked up from Dada. We would sing and sing, sometimes just create our own lyrics as we went on, sometimes start with one song and end in another, because the tunes were similar!
I get my love for singing and music from my Dada.
Often at nights, just before he goes to bed, he'll ask me to sing him a song, and before you know it, we're six-seven songs down, the Eagles, the Beatles, Denver, Sinatra, what have you, creating harmonies, tapping on wood and extremely happy.
We have a collection of audio cassettes packed somewhere, safe from the incessant bombarding of digital progress. Teaming with recordings of a most delightful childhood.
I thank my father for creating these memories with me, and every other thing he has inspired in me and taught me. I am fortunate and grateful to be his daughter, every single day.
Dada, I love you.
Happy Dada Day!