|
Since she was very young, we'd play a game where I would hear someone on the radio in the car or at a public place, and I'd ask her who it was. I didn't get tricky, I stuck to people she knew, to build her confidence more than anything. Louis Armstrong, Elvis Presley (can you tell I'm a southerner?), Frank Sinatra. I got more complicated as she got older--Mick Jagger, the Beatles, Bono, Tom Petty. She's a real rock fan now, but she's also just a music fan, with, to be honest, a better sense of music than I have, already at 14.
So one night not too long ago we were just playing around on Youtube, for some reason listening to various recordings of "Unchained Melody." We heard one by Elvis, and I remarked that there were some people who said Elvis couldn't sing. She rolled her eyes and said "Stupid people, maybe." So to be fair and balanced, I told her they were comparing him to someone like Pavarotti, and I realized, rather to my surprise, that she had never heard Pavarotti. Yes, the educational system in America will allow a child to make it to 9th grade in choir and music and never introduce her to opera.
So I showed her a clip, on Youtube, of Pavarotti, when he was younger. After a few notes her jaw dropped and she whispered "Oh my God." I've never seen a more serious response from this kid--well, not a kid anymore, but my kid.
Yesterday I told her he had died. She had only a few months to know him as a living person, rather than a memory, a historical figure, a legend. A God. Whatever he was. Everything he was, every great thing he did, all boils down to one thing for me. He created a look of sophistication, of rapture, on my daughter's face I've never seen before. That's what, though not all, he'll always be to me.
I wonder if that would impress or sadden him.
My own little tribute to a mighty man.
|