Music is a gift.

Those who compose and perform have received something extraordinary, something reserved for a fortunate few.

This month marks the fourth year since my father’s death. Because of the music we shared, I continue to hear him. It is because of music that this time, so close to another Christmas without him, continues to be happy — and the perfect time to celebrate the gift of life.

My love for jazz and big band music began with long drives with my father. Sometimes, he had to drive to a military base near St. Louis, a three-hour drive from our hometown in the Missouri Bootheel. Other times, we headed in the other direction to the PX in Blytheville, Ariz. Either way, we tuned in to the big band station on AM radio. He told me beau gestes of world travel during his military days while Glenn Miller and Duke Ellington songs set the stage in mind.

I jumped at the chance to see Count Basie while I attended the University of Missouri and the Count was between stops in St. Louis and Kansas City. It didn’t matter that I went alone because none of my friends had heard of him. My father and I had a lot to talk about after that concert.

My love for traditional folk music came from my earliest memories of my father singing me to sleep. His voice, raspy from a lifelong Camel habit, somehow seemed tailor-made for “Columbus Stockade,” “You Are My Sunshine” and “Down in the Valley.” His stories of eating dandelion greens and working as a bottle boy in a rural pool hall while growing up during the Depression made even bad times seem good. We watched the movie “Paper Moon” together after years of his singing “It’s Only a Paper Moon” at bedtime. And even though I can’t hold a note, my children remember those same songs from their bedtimes.

I have my father’s violin, a secondhand and cheaply made instrument, from those Depression days. He worked odd jobs as a kid and saved for years to buy the crude instrument. When he finally had enough money, the only violin teacher in town had moved away. My father never played that violin. Whether it’s classical, country or jazz, somehow the alternately vibrant and plaintive strings bring my father back to life.

My lower middle class parents made sure I took piano lessons and gave me an elaborate, hard-bound library of classical sheet music. Both of my children now play the piano and the violin.

While my father suffered, survived and triumphed over countless hardships in his life, he never failed to remind me during my low times that “you can’t rollerskate in a buffalo herd, but you can be happy if you’ve a mind to.” That’s a line from a Roger Miller song.

After I left my hick town for city adventures, returning for sporadic visits, my father and I shared many beers at the kitchen table and warbled Jerry Jeff Walker’s “Up Against the Wall Red Neck Mother” and Merle Haggard’s “Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Star.”
My father said he admired Elvis for being a regular GI. He said Jerry Lee Lewis tickled him, that Frank Sinatra helped him with the girls. But when it came to how my father really thought and felt about life, we listened to Ray Charles. We laughed and cried and partied and fought and pondered and wondered together. And there’s a Ray Charles song for every one of those moments. I saw Ray Charles perform twice. I wanted to name my daughter after Ray Charles. I listened to Ray Charles when my father died. I listen to Ray Charles now when I want to hear my father talk to me.

Now my son and I talk about The Beatles. My daughter still talks about when I took her to a Peter Frampton concert. We agonize over which songs to download. We fret over practice time before concerts and recitals. My daughter squealed when she received an iPod as a birthday gift, and my son wants to take up the bass guitar. How can I say no to giving my children music?
If you’re still looking for Christmas gifts, consider just how much life you’re actually giving when you share music.

Emily Tuttle spent several years traveling and writing as a daily news reporter in California and Arizona. Music is one of her top five passions. She currently lives in Minot and works as a free-lance writer and ESL teacher.

Gift list suggestions of albums by genre:

Classical: “Vivaldi: The Four Seasons,” by Joshua Bell (2008)
Classic country: “Twang,” by George Strait (2009)
Pop country: “Southern Voice,” by Tim McGraw (2009)
Contemporary folk: “The List,” by Rosanne Cash (2009)
Blues: “Skin Deep,” by Buddy Guy (2008)
Rock blues: “Speak No Evil,” by Tinsley Ellis (2009)
Rock: “Before the Frost … Until the Freeze,” by The Black Crowes (2009)
Hard rock: “Foo Fighters Greatest Hits,” by Foo Fighters (2009)
Alternative: “Them Crooked Vultures,” by Them Crooked Vultures (2009)
World/alternative: “So Many Nights,” by The Cat Empire (2008)
Jazz vocal: “Normal as Blueberry Pie: A Tribute to Doris Day,” by Nellie McKay
(2009)
Jazz instrumental: “Voices Deep Within,” by Cedar Walton (2009)
Easy listening: “Love is the Answer,” by Barbra Streisand (2009)
R&B: “Stronger with Each Tear,” by Mary J. Blige (hits stores Dec. 21)
Rap: “No More Heroes,” by Solillaquists of Sound (2009)
Teen pop: “Battlefield,” by Jordan Sparks (2009)
The Bob Dylan and Ry Cooder fan who already has everything: “Time Stands Still,” by Chris Smither (2009)