My father loved music, as do I. The soundtrack of my youth runs the gambit from Herb Albert to George Sheering to, most importantly for this post, musicals. The Music Man, who’s song “Trouble” was a routine presence in the repertoire with a capital “T”. Others include “The Sound of Music”, “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum”, “West Side Story”, but nothing, absolutely nothing, holds a higher place in this catalog than “Fiddler on the Roof”.My parents saw the original play on Broadway. They also saw “How to Succeed In Business” with Robert Morse, and several others. They saw some epic performances in an historical time for Broadway theater. The music of these plays was common place in our home, and even more importantly, on the road. When we traveled from California to Pennsylvania in a white station wagon, bouncing around the back without seatbelts and playing “road bingo” between stops at Stuckney’s for pecan logs, the 8-track player put forth numerous recordings to entertain us and them along the way. “Peter, Paul and Mommy” was the favorite of my brother and I while “Fiddler on the Roof” was my father’s recurring choice. Fiddler was played the most. The absolute most. It is an engrained core memory, laying the foundation for the movie to follow in 1971, and opening the door for me to the joy and enjoyment of musical theater across the board.
I have inherited and carried this passion forward, to this day. Literally on this day, January 05, 2020, when I took my daughter to see Hamilton. Again. Her 4th time, my 6th. On what would have been my father's 86th. Today would have been my father’s 86th birthday, had he not died 32 years ago at the relatively young age of 54.
As I sat in the 5th row of the mezzanine this afternoon watching this wonderful play with my daughter, my thoughts turned momentarily to him, this day, it’s significance and his enduring influence my life, even in his absence.
I took a moment during the play to solemnly reflect on my father, the legacy I carry forward, and the legacy I pass on, I felt a sense of comfort and connection to the past behind me, the present moment before me, and the future that lies ahead. And, as I write this, I’m watching Fiddler, sharing memories with my brother and reunited sister via text, recognizing how much of a testimonial and gesture of honor this moment and these ongoing measures are to my parents, as they are gifts to my children as well.
Tradition, Tradition. Tradition!