Some nights my children’s dose of melatonin gummies does not work quickly enough. Rather than toss and turn or arise to stumble to the fridge, I will then reach for my cell phone and open the Spotify app. Depending on mood and the actual time on the clock, I choose either an audiobook on George Washington or a music playlist.

If I select music to be my sedative supplement, I have learned to avoid anything heavy or fast. I am better off going easy and soothing. A couple of nights ago, an author’s voice was not appealing, so I scrolled the playlists of saved musical genres. When I came to the one labeled “Big Band,” I hit select and let it play. I had now boarded the A train and was on a sentimental journey escorted by that famous bugle boy from Company B. This genre is very special to me for one forlorn reason. My father. I have written before about playing gin rummy with Tommy Dorsey. Big band was his favorite type of music, and it became mine by heritage.

Two or three songs into this search for slumber, one of my all-time favorites popped up on the screen. “Three Little Fishes” by Kay Kyser and his Orchestra. Several artists have covered this tune, including Spike Jones and the City Slickers. If you are unfamiliar with it, please take a minute to give it a listen on your chosen music app. It is bouncy, comical and catchy. Little kids love it; adults sing along with the easy-to-remember lyrics. How can such a simplistic song bring so much joy? Two reasons exist: The features and characteristics I just highlighted are one reason. The second for me is that it foments visions of my dad. Sprawled on his bed, deck of cards in hand, either playing Solitaire or accepting my request to deal out the gin rummy hand.

I spent at least thirty or forty minutes with Dad listening to music that night. He was largely real and present in my dimly lit bedroom. I felt comfort and peace as I slowly drifted off to sleep. Was he truly there? Unfortunately not…he’s been gone for 27 years. But that does not matter to me. He continues to serve as the principal influence in my life. Via the lessons taught or the mystic chords of music interludes we share like the other evening…he lives.

If I were to write a letter to him, it would go something like this:

“Dear Dad,

Thank you for your brief visit the other night. I sure enjoyed listening to our favorite songs together. Your presence helped settle my mind and get the sleep I needed. I am so thankful that you instilled a love of music in me. I know that your primary goal in life was to see me succeed in whatever I choose to do. I remember a phone call between us when I was back in college, trying to settle on a major. I was debating between medical school and physical therapy school. You said, “I don’t care which you choose. I will support you in either. But whichever you choose, just make sure you do it well.”

You made sure I had all the necessary support both physically and emotionally. I know that you let go of some of your dreams so that I could accomplish mine. I also know that you fought battles I never knew about. Probably the same battles I fight…worry about kids, grandkids, providing for your family, etc. I want you to know that I would have been at your side, back and front, during any struggle you had in life, just like you were for me. You kept going when you felt like giving up. I was watching you closely and learned more from you than you realize. I will continue to use your example every day in my role as a dad and grandpa.

My heart lives outside my body with you, and your voice stays with me, reminding me I am stronger than any of my self-doubts. Thank you so much for everything. Job well done!

Sincerely, your loving son,

Ish Kabibble”