“You Can't Sluf Ward Choir Practice!” (Part 1 of 5)

Dad and I sang in the ward choir together for many years. The summer before I began singing in the mixed chorus in ninth grade, Brother Crosby, our ward’s choir president approached me in the hall at Church one Sunday. “We need you in the ward choir,” Brother Crosby said. “How about coming out next Sunday?” That’s all I needed, an invitation. I was there ever since. I sang bass with my Dad, and when my voice changed and I began singing tenor, Dad accommodated me and sang tenor as well, just so we could sing together. At one time or another we were also joined by Mom and one or two of my sisters. Many times, on a Sunday night, Dad would play the piano and sing, and I would sing a long with him. We’d go through the hymn book in this fashion until it was very late or our voices went out, or both. At other times we listened to my stereo in my room and we’d sing the music to Handel’s Messiah together. We even once listened to the finale of the Reformation Symphony and we both hummed the string bass part as we followed along in my copy of the music.