My Dad is a Whistler

***** Photo by Kathy Barth *****

My Dad is a Whistler 

I was walking to the cafeteria today to get a vanilla latte and a light breakfast and I came upon a woman whistling in the long hallway to the cafeteria and it triggered a memory for me; that my dad was a whistler too. No, not the fine artist painting kind, but the air across the lips musical kind. I remember him whistling those easy listening tunes that were sung by the romantic crooners of the 50’s and 60’s; Perry Como and Andy Williams to name a few, and other popular songs of the day.   

But that is not the important part.  The important part is that he made music with nothing but air passing over his tongue and through his lips and he was very good at it. He was never given the opportunity to learn to play a musical instrument, so he made his own music; music that he could carry with him wherever he went.   

I don’t know if dad whistles much anymore. His lungs don’t work like they should and the simple act of breathing is often difficult for him. I hope he knows that I carry the sound of his tunes in my mind and in my heart.  

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