My dad gave me a love for the classics. The deep boom of Tchaikovsky resonates with my little lost girl heart to this day.
My mum gave me pop music.
Born in 1951, a teenager during Beatlemania, my mum’s Beatles and Beach Boys records were the highlights of my week. In between the incessant replays of kiddie Christian music and Sesame Street albums demanded by me, my mother would play some oldies radio. Her favourite was always Herman’s Hermits. “Henry the VIII, I Am”, to be precise. She’d sing it while driving me around to various extracurriculars or while making dinner.
My mother passed away in February 2000. I miss her every day. I especially miss her when I go ahead and make myself into a mess. Nothing can replace a mother in the life of a girl who needs her. So as I sit here trying to pull myself together, I have a little Peter Noone singing over a bouncy sixties Brit pop track playing in the background.
I love you, mum.