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Granted, things got a bit cramped during Winston’s teenage years, after he became as obsessed with music and musical instruments as his mom and dad. Even more so, actually. Beginning around age thirteen, Winston started bringing home one musical instrument after another. The “usual” ones, like guitars and bass guitars and harmonicas. But also a dulcimer and Wurlitzer and accordion, too.
Even when Winston had no idea how to play a particular instrument, he’d nonetheless bring it home, and thereafter become obsessed with learning it. Winston would barter with kids at his school, promising them signed 22 Goats memorabilia to sell or give to their parents as a gift, in exchange for this or that instrument. Or Winston would run across some weird thing at a yard sale and simply have to have it. One time, my crazy son brought home a freaking didgeridoo! And, damned if he didn’t learn to play that one, too. Sort of.
But, anyway, putting aside Winston’s teenage obsession with collecting musical instruments—not to mention, his penchant for sneaking girls into his downstairs bedroom, when he incorrectly thought his father and I were asleep—I think it’s fair to say our beach house has almost always been spacious enough to accommodate the three of us, all our various musical instruments, and our son’s raging teenage hormones. Our home isn’t massive, like Violet and Dax’s or Reed and Georgie’s, but it works for our family and always will.
“Like dis?” Alfie says, strumming the C-chord again.
“Just like that!”
We practice the simple chord again and again. After which, I ask, “You want to try a new one, honey?” I move my grandson’s fingers into position. “This is G.”
“G,” my darling boy says solemnly, like I’ve just told him the secrets of the universe.
“That’s right, my love. Now, strum.”
Alfie strums and scowls at the tinny sound.
“You moved your fingers.” I reposition his tiny fingers. “Try again.”
Alfie strums and, this time, delivers a lovely, crisp G that rings out over the sound of the nearby ocean.
“Now see how much easier it is to play this than that big guitar you wanted to play? You can learn on this ukulele and play your daddy’s big guitar when your hands get bigger.”
“I want to play Daddy’s guitar. I want to be like Daddy and Unkee Jackson.”
“I know you do, my love. And one day, you will be. But before then, while you’re still so little—"
“I’m not little.” Alfie scrunches up his darling face. “I’m big. I’m three.”
I bite back my laughter. “You’re right. You’re big. In fact, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you working on Wall Street?”
“Huh?”
I snort, thoroughly amused with myself. “Just a little Grandma humor. Would you like me to show you how to play a song with those two chords you’ve learned?”
My grandson nods excitedly, reminding me so much of Winston, his father, at the same age, my heart bursts.
I position my own treasured ukulele in my lap. “This song is called ‘Skip to My Lou.’ You’re gonna love it. It’s a banger.”
Alfie looks confused.
“More Grandma humor. That means it’s a good song. Okay, cutie, watch my fingers as I play the song. Watch how I move my fingers from C to G.” I play the simple song for him, much to his delight. And, quickly, it’s obvious I’ve got a fish on my line—yet another Fishberger who’s absolutely hooked on music.
When I’m done playing, Alfie demands we swap ukuleles. Apparently, the kid thinks those pretty sounds I just made are attributable to the instrument in my lap, rather than the musician playing it.
I give Alfie my prized ukulele, but warn him he can’t take it home with him. “This one was a birthday present from Grandpa when I turned twenty. That’s even younger than your daddy.”
Alfie nods knowingly. “You played it for ‘Smitten.’”
“That’s right! I did!” I don’t know why I’m surprised my grandson knows that. He’s obsessed with that song and always has been. He’s probably seen the music video a million times in his young life. Not to mention several performance videos, too. And in every single one, I’m playing this very ukulele.
It’s not only my grandson who adores “Smitten,” by the way. Even thirty years after its release, Fish and I can still easily sell out any medium-size club in the world, if we’re so inclined, thanks to that song’s enduring popularity. Since “Smitten” first hit number one a full three decades ago, it’s been covered by lots of artists, featured in countless movies and commercials, and slowly wormed its way into being regarded as a “classic” love song. So much so, Here Comes the Bride Magazine recently included it on their list of “The Top Twenty ‘First Dance’ Wedding Songs of All Time.”
Being named on that list was a particular thrill for me, considering Fish and I sang “Smitten” to each other on our own wedding day, exactly twenty-eight years ago today. Finding out other couples choose to make our little duet a part of their special memories, especially after all this time, warms my heart.
