Some people think that every circumstance, happening, coincidence, wreck, scrape, name, birthdate, birth-sign, or shooting star has a hidden deeper meaning.
I try not to giggle.
My middle name is skeptic.
Recently I read a piece about how your life can be described based on the #1 song on the day you were born. Oh boy, another “meaning.”
I decided to check it out.
The Number One song on the day of my birth was “White Christmas” by Bing Freaking Crosby. OK. I can certainly talk about my life based on that song. And, unlike “your song” my song has remained popular for seven decades. (right ahead of “Hang On Sloopy)
In my early childhood life the song meant nothing. It seemed like a syrupy, pretty melody that was part of the music played every Christmas Holiday. Through my teen years it bordered on elevator music.
I ignored it, even though it was a good tune for an awkward pimply-faced kid to find a dance partner at the Christmas sock-hop. (I’m not going to explain that to you young whippersnappers)
In my years of parenting, the song became romantic and wishful. I wanted snow for the kids at Christmastime (it was Indiana and the odds are always good) and many snow-falls are the most beautiful scenic picture I’ve experienced in nature.
The back of my house, perched on a hill, overlooked a horse pasture and a few farm fields, with the city of Lafayette a few miles in the distance.
Normally there is just one, maybe two, perfect snowfalls every winter. The temperature has to be just right. Flakes the size of the palm of your hand, every one “sticking” as it hits the ground. We would watch them float across our yard and the thousands of acres behind us. In a matter of hours everything was coated in a white cold blanket. No footsteps. Not a mark. It was magic.
Hot chocolate, cookies, wrapped presents, and Bing singing away on my birth tune. What could be better?
Honestly, most of the snows were shitty. Wet, icy, deep, freezing stinking snow that had to be shoveled to get the mail, shoveled to get the kids to the bus, shoveled to get the car out, (hope it starts) and slide down the hill to town. More shoveling needed if you slid off in the ditch.
By the time I turned thirty, I hated cold weather.
“I’m dreaming of a White Christmas soon changed to “California Here I come.”
So that’s the life-story my Number One birthday tune plays in my head. Frost-bitten ear-lobe, frozen car doors, falling on my ass, shoveling till my back ached, watery eyes, and hands that never warmed up…ever.
Well, what’s your story about your NUMBER ONE BIRTHDAY SONG?
Tell me about it.
Just click on this link, enter your birthdate and listen to your Chart Topper and write down how that song played a part in your life…or maybe it didn’t.
After all, “It was meant to be.”