Sometimes luck, circumstance, and innate talent converge to choreograph a magical moment. It was such a confluence of potential that has allowed me to sing, a couple of times, with some fairly good gospel groups. And there was the time I was asked to perform with one of the premiere dance groups accompanied by the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. I’ve been lucky, I guess. And certainly I’ve been flattered by some of the invitations to perform I’ve received over the years.

Nothing, however, could ever match the invitation that was mine recently. She just has a voice that is magical. It’s filled with that lilting quality which distinguishes it from the average. The mental processes she brings to the composition to enable it to compliment her musical qualities is astounding. The range of her vocals defies description. On top of that she has this unique ability to seemingly remember every song she’s ever heard of sung.

The invitation came at just the right time. There was nothing on my schedule. The appointment calendar had nothing that could conflict. I accepted.

It was a cool day. Not cold in the afternoon when we performed, but it had been freezing the night before. As we walked through the crisp air to the studio she seemed to gain energy with anticipation of the music that was to come.

We settled ourselves in the warmth. The doors were closed to prohibit outside interference. We were ready. The time had come.

“You know,” she suggested, “maybe we should start with some old silly songs.”

It sounded like a plan. Certainly I needed to warm up the cords. “What do you want to start with?” I asked.

“Do you remember a song called ‘Skinny Marinky Dinky Dink’?” she asked.

“I do,” I smiled at the memory. The singing began: Skinny Marinky Dinky Dink, I love you. Skinny Marinky Dinky Dink, I love you. I love you the morning, and I love you late at night; I love you in the evening when the moon is shining bright. Oh, Skinny Marinky Dinky Dink I love you. . . .”

We both smiled at each other when the song was over. Laughter followed.

“That was fun,” she said. “Remember ‘The Bear Went Over the Mountain’?”


I did. We began. “The bear went over the mountain; the bear went over the mountain; the bear went over the mountain to see what he could see. . . .” By the time the bear got there and we’d lyrically announced it was the other side of the mountain he did see.

We were in a groove now. “Want to sing a church song?”

“Sure.”

“Remember this one?” she asked. She began and I joined her: Rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham; rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham; rocka my soul in the bosom of Abraham; oh, rocka my soul. . . .” Our voices went as high and low and wide as did Abraham. We were on a roll.

This time she said nothing and just began another. “Oh, you can’t get to heaven; oh, you can’t get to heaven on roller skates, cause you’ll roll right by those pearly gates.”

After that it was “I Got Shoes.” After that voices blended as we sang the song of wise and foolish men building houses.

About twenty songs later the ride was over. Car seat unbuckled, she then dashed inside to see her grandmother.