Songs my parents sang

My parents, like me, were average singers.  They carried a tune well, and Mother could sing her alto part in congregational singing at the Church of Christ, but there wasn't anything especially notable about their voices.  Neither of them played any instrument unless you want to count the "mouth organ" (harmonica) Daddy picked up once or twice a year.  

But they loved to sing... around the house, in the car, it didn't matter.  The only ears that heard their impromptu vocalizing were theirs and mine.  Daddy, especially, would belt out a song any time he felt like it.  Some were a little naughty by the standards of the olden days ("She had freckles on her but... pause... I loved her anyway").  He'd launch into any of those and my mom would say, "Everett???" to hush him.

They'd sing the hits of the day, songs like You Can't Be True Dear, Tennessee Waltz, Nobody's Darlin' but Mine, Smoke Smoke Smoke that Cigarette, Pistol-Packin' Mama.  The list seems endless.  Many of the old songs have since been revived by singers of a different era.  I just remember my parents singing them.  Daddy would usually start, obviously enjoying his rendition, and usually Mother would join in.  They'd sometimes sing a hymn or two.  Mother liked the Blackwood Brothers, who had a radio show... I believe on Sunday morning.  So my folks would often be heard singing, "Royal Telephone", "Life's Railway to Heaven", and others along those lines.  

Yesterday I thought of an old song they liked:  Not only did they sing it from time to time, Mother bought the record, a 78 RPM that we listened to on the wind-up Victrola purchased from an auction at a one-room school.  When I thought of that song, it sparked a memory of something that happened in  the 70's.  I related the story to Cliff, who has no recollection of the event, although he was present.  

A young man next door had joined with a group called "Kansas City Songwriters".  Donnie's family was musical and his mom wrote an occasional song.  He and a local woman attended the once-a-month meetings.  Because I had written a few songs, Donnie felt I needed to be in the group.  Usually the fact that I don't drive can be a problem; not in this case, though, because he and Nancy were going anyway.

At these meetings the members were preparing to do a show at the Benjamin Stables' grounds in the city, but that's another story.  I met a nice, very talented lady there; she, as well as I, had a couple of songs selected for the big show.  She came out to our house one night and brought friends with her, a congenial married couple.  We talked a lot about the upcoming songwriter's showcase, and at one point my new friend (I don't even recall her name) looked at the gentleman she'd brought along and said, "Hey, sing us that song you wrote."

"It's the only song I ever wrote," he said, smiling.  "Two cents, Three eggs, and a Postcard."

"Oh, wow.  You wrote that?"  I exclaimed, while thinking he couldn't be old enough to have written it.  "My mom had that record when I was a little kid!"

The lady who'd introduced me to them along said, "What?"

I didn't think they believed me, so I started singing it.

"Two cents, three eggs and a postcard
Are all that I've got in this world,
But what good are eggs and a postcard
If you haven't got a girl."     

My new friend looked at her associate and said, "Damn you!  You didn't write that song!  All this time I thought you wrote it."

Let's just say it was a very awkward situation; I should have kept my mouth shut.  

I've often wondered why anyone would choose that song to claim as his own creation, because even when I was a child, those lyrics sounded like something a ten-year-old would make up.  Perhaps the reason he claimed that particular song was because nobody had ever heard of it.  

That's my story.  If I were counting my blessings today, I'd have to thank God for blessing me with parents who spontaneously sang around the house.  It's amazing how many of those old songs I remember.

Peace.