Straight Up Singing

To my office in Jersey City where he kept going down the hill towards a parking lot full of fascinating gravel—-a stop for gas and a 7up—-onto the IKEA store in Elizabeth where he carried one of those yellow bags as I put things into it—-back home where Charlie got mad at me for telling him not to stand in the neighbor’s yard and to practice the cello—(we ended up practicing both cello and piano)—-on a ride down local roads to get to a certain central Jersey (open 24 hours) diner where Charlie had a big ol’ burger, fries (some from my mom’s plate), and a great deal of ketchup (and gave me his onion rings): Throughout another day of travels with Charlie, he kept singing snatches of two songs that felt like leitmotifs to the day.

One was the opening of March Militaire which I think I’ve played maybe once for him on the piano.

The other was this: It’s jazz pianist Thelonious Monk and his quartet performing Straight, No Chaser. Jim had the movie of that name on a few years ago and Charlie came in and out of the room, pausing mostly when he saw Monk playing the piano, and spinning. There’s been speculation about Monk having Tourette’s syndrome and also Asperger’s Syndrome—there’s a repetitive quality to his music and playing, and something about how Monk holds and moves his body does reminds me of Charlie. Monk’s music does seem to appeal to Charlie’s fancy, too, and to his ear, and Charlie kept humming the refrain throughout the day: Da da da da duh, da da da da duh, da da da da daaah, dada da da daaaah.

Charlie still likes to look through CD covers from the Barney and Wiggles and Teletubbies CDs that he used to have (all became so scratched, cracked, or so plastered with sticky finger prints that they could not longer be played). When I have turned on some of the songs for him from a YouTube video or other source, Charlie at first seems excited and eager, and then slams down the laptop shut. I’ve taken this as a fairly straighforward statement: Maybe the memory of the songs is more pleasant for Charlie now than actually hearing them.

Personally, I’m fine with not having to hear the 9999th replaying of “The Barney Song” or “Shaky Shaky” or “Teletubbies Say Hello.” Charlie humming any of the songs that Jim has been whistling to him for the past several years, or handing me a Jimi Hendrix CD and saying “this one, this one” and sitting back in the back seat to listen with big-eyed intentness: It’s good listening for all.

And Charlie telling me “singing, singing!” after playing the piano: These are words I’m glad to honor, straight up in his own strong voice, and no chaser.