Summer Wind
Had a visit with Mom yesterday, and somehow Dean Martin’s name came up. “I don’t remember him anymore,” Mom said. I pulled up a photo of Dino, and she smiled. “He looked like Dad,” Mom said, and that was certainly true. I put on “Everybody Loves Somebody” and Mom’s smile grew wider. “Oh yeah. He had a great voice, but I’m thinking of someone else.” “Frank Sinatra,” I said. Mom nodded. That was all I needed. I played six straight Sinatra songs, and during ‘Summer Wind’ Mom sang along. She knew every word, and every nuanced groan from Frank, and I noticed that her eyes were filled with tears. “Why are you crying?” I asked. She shrugged. “I don’t know.” “It’s because Dad sang all these songs to you,” I said. “He’d put the records on and blast them all through the house. He loved Sinatra.” “Why do you listen to him?” Mom asked. “Because Dad was right. Frank was great.” We listened to the last few minutes of “Summer Wind” and I said: “That’s one of my favorite songs ever,” and I meant it. “...