I went to one of your dances to hear you sing. You pulled me around by my arm and introduced me to people by saying, “You remember (insert their names here) don’t you, Ian?” Then you were so surprised when I said I didn’t remember them. You knew so many people.
You dragged my sorry two left feet onto the dance floor and you loved every minute of me trying not to fall over or step on your toes.We had a great laugh.
They called your name to sing and the place went crazy. I was in my late thirties and the youngest guy in the room – it shocked me that these people were so excited. We all knew you could sing, but your rock star status was new to me. You grabbed the mic and said, “This one’s for my son.” Then you held a long ‘Hey…’ and the crowd was clapping and calling out your name. You launched into what I later learned was your signature song, The Guitar Man. The dance floor was packed and I swear there were a few senior men trying to crash the stage. You were awesome. You rocked the joint!
There were the quiet moments, at home, sitting at the kitchen table, when you’d sing just for us. Mother’s Day is quieter now that you’re gone.
I miss ya, mom. Happy Mother’s Day.