step by step, the longest march

I arrived to visit my dad on Friday April 13 in mid-afternoon. After declaring emphatically that he didn’t want to go for a walk (apparently he had refused earlier in the day too), dad eventually consented to go as far as the activity room to read the paper. We sang (My life flows on, and "Kisses sweeter than wine" with lyrics modified to reflect his life with mum, among other things). 

After supper, dad became quite excited about the idea of getting out for a walk (“we can send for those books & photos later”) so I got him dressed and headed (with the walker) down then out towards the driveway entrance off Major St. near College. It took two rest stops outbound and three on the return, as well as an uncounted number of verses of:

Step by step, the longest march

Can be won, can be won.

Many stones can form an arch

Singly none, singly none.

And by union what we will

Can be accomplished still.

Drops of water turn a mill.

Singly none, singly none.

(This is great walking song, which my sister Margie says is attributed to the foreword from a 19th century miners' union constitution according to liner notes from a Pete Seeger album. There is some different history with a great performance by John McCutcheon here).

After our return (the whole excursion to the corner of the driveway and back took about an hour, maybe 40-60 meters total traveled) he wanted to sing more, so we did. After repeating How can I keep from Singing, he remarked “you seem to have recovered pretty well from your experience (long pause) on the boat” – this from someone who an hour earlier had been unable to remember my brother Danny’s name or mine, or even the word “brother” to describe our relationship (“You two, same mother, right?"). Uncharacteristically, I was not wearing any sort of political t-shirt or even a button as a clue, and my boat experience would be neither in his immediate memory, nor in his well-laid-down distant memories, and there are no immediate print cues around either (I later printed this account out for him to read, or have read to him). The song was of course connected to my boat experience for me (but not so much for him), but not very recently -- it had been sung much more recently at mum's memorial).

Dad’s acceptance of a walk (or any activity) seems to be conditioned by luck as well as stubbornness, but as my brother Danny points out, stubbornness helps create opportunities for luck. As luck (¿?) would have it, dad turns out to be related to some stubborn people.

Musical winterlude 2 (+post-script: the Power of Song)

Contrary to the impression an earlier post might have left, I am not opposed to seasonal singing generally (just to artifically “festive” piped-in muzak). Live singing is good at any time, and especially when family and friends get together. On December 26 and 27 my family gathered at the long-term care facility where my parents live for sing-songs with a few friends.  We sang labour classics like The Banks are Made of Marble, Solidarity Forever  (with some of the great new lyrics from Wisconsin), Union Maid, Joe Hill, Preacher and the slave (Long-haired preachers come out every night), peace songs like Ain’t gonna study war no more and protest songs of hope like Oh Mary don’t you weep, We shall overcome, We shall not be moved  and If I had a hammer. There were a few funny songs like I am an Anglican (sort a a religious in-joke) and Old time religion. We ended up (dad gets tired quickly – my parents turned 86 this year) with How can I keep from Singing? (I had difficulty controlling my tears, predictably) and the Irish freedom song Kevin Barry (which for me recalled my Irish cellmate from Givon prison in Israel).


Post-script: my brother Danny sent this link to the CBC program Definitely not the Opera from December 31, on the Power of song, with some powerful first-hand stories from different times & places (including Dan Hill having to prove he was himself by singing his own song for Bahamian police).