Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Papa's final adventure. We spent the previous day at Boushette's house. We had no ceremonies, and didn't really do anything special except my brother's and I smoked Backwoods Smokes (I still have one left for you Mike).
Ironically we had spaghetti for dinner. I allowd myself ice cream even though I'm on a diet.
One story did come up, The Music Class story (really two stories).
Dad was, well, he couldn't sing. When the nun came in the classroom to teach music she had a pitchpipe and she would go to each row and play a note. I can still see Dad pretending to be the nun with the pitchpipe when he told this story. He would hold his hand up to his mouth and say, "tweet."
Dad always sat in the sixth row, sixth seat. When she got to his row she would stop. "Is Bill La Fleur in this row?"
"Here sister."
"You don't sing."
Tweeeet. "Very good."
He played in band once, only because everyone had to. He played triangle. Actually, he didn't play triangle. They made him stand there and pretend to strike the triangle with the tiny little stick.
I have no snappy ending for this post so I will just say bye for now, keep a song in your heart.
