In the year 1929 on a cool autumn day on the 24th
of September my father took his first breath. The moment my grandmother held
him I believe her thoughts turned to her four other sons Bud, Bob, Fred, Frank
and now my dad Roger. Another rambunctious boy to add to the mix of the Shelton
home. I bet her arms ached for a little
girl after losing her first born daughter Josephine, at the age of six. The
house would be filled with baseballs, footballs, and muddy clothes instead of
lacy dresses and bows. That first time
she held my father was 94 years ago. I have always wondered what he was like as
a small child and teenager, but as a father he was perfect for me.
Continuum, repeat, revive, rejuvenate are a few words that
come to mind when I think of loved ones that have passed. My mind tries to rekindle those moments with
my dad. A man who was short in stature with pudgy little fingers. Those short stubby
fingers would dance across the piano keys to accompany me in my solos at high
school concerts, church, and weddings. Dad aways said when we practiced, “Oh, Pam
you have a beautiful voice.” Those days are gone, but the memory is implanted
in me.
Memories that repeat with each generation. The birth of a
new baby, the unwrapping of a granddaughter’s birthday gifts and the hugs that
bring warmth that linger even after the hug is done. That word Continuum is the
circle of life. Each generation from my
great, great grandparents to my great grandchildren will have memories that
keep them moving forward. My father loved music and with each deep note he sang
it was one with perfect pitch. Now, my children
have a love for music, even my nephews and nieces do too.
Music is the link in the Shelton family. It gives each one
of us the opportunity to share something we all love. The melody, rhythm and words
keep those moments we shared alive. I strive daily to recount those songs my
father wrote. Songs that I have wanted to instill in my children and
grandchildren. Dad would play my Aunt Dorothy’s piano while his siblings would
stand around and sing the songs that they treasured and wrote. Uncle Fred was a
talented guitar and harmonica player. Oh, and my dear grandpa Shelton would let
me sit on his lap while he played his harmonica, and I would always place my
head against his chest to hear him breathe. These memories that are cherished
and never to be forgotten.
Dad, you can not read the words I write, but I hope you can
see your legacy loves you. That your smile and love of music has flowed into
your grandchildren, great grandchildren. My heart aches to hear his voice, watch him
play the piano and accompany me while I sing. I miss, oh how I miss having
someone accompany me. I often wonder how my father felt when his parents passed.
Did he feel as empty as I do? I bet he did because it’s a continuum that circle
of life that repeats the loss, growth, and watching a loved one unwrap a gift meant
just for them.
