|Dancing with my dad to bands like this was a special occasion.|
In my childhood home, my dad, R.C., would borrow a reel-to-reel from the university science department where he worked for 25+ years as a microbiology professor. He'd record the family warbling out holiday tunes: my mother singing, dad playing violin, big sis on piano, little brother on trumpet and me on guitar. None of these takes were saved. Dad must have captured some of my choral and duet singing from high school, too, but it seems the pleasure was in capturing the moment, not in preserving and storing it.
|Mom and Dad on one of our many cabin/camping/day-trip outings|
Rufus Clay Hatfield, Jr. (he went by R.C. or Clay) hailed from Kentucky, and I've cherished those Bluegrass roots, sharing with my students fun, spirited songs like Black-eyed Susie, All Around the Kitchen, This Little Light of Mine, Little Wheel a-Turnin'.. But in my youth, the vibrant folk scene and the British music invasion of the 60s and 70s, whose influence flowed into my repetoires, seemed to waft by my dad as just an amusing fluke.
It's those Big Band greats that always bring to mind the music of my father----those dynamic, dreamy, dance-able sounds from his weighty vinyl collection of 78s spinning on the family turntable. And that is the sound he was listening to live, at a UCLA dance when he first met---and danced with---my mom, the French Major.
|My dad, Dr. R.C. Hatfield|