My childhood home had a lot of music; my parents were both musicians. My birth father was a trumpet player, and when I was really young, I remember hearing him practice in the basement, and then bashing around church when he played for the Christmas services. I know Casino Royale on a cellular level, hearing him play it so much.
I also remember handling his trumpet when he wasn’t around. Smelling instrument and valve oil, carrying the case around and pretending to be a professional musician.
My mother plays piano and sings. When I was 9, she auditioned for the St. Louis Symphony Chorus. I still remember her audition piece; she sang it so much. She also played and sang at church.
I can’t imagine my youth without music.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Papa Loves Mambo.”