Lullaby

Here’s a fond memory of that time I found out that my husband, the Carpenter, was soothing our sweet toddlers with the singing of a song that he considered lullaby material, but was absolutely unsuitable in every sense of the definition of a lullaby. It’s almost as funny as how I found out.

Now, before some readers get their dander up about our parenting skills, let me assure you that our two beautiful babies, an infant and toddler at the time, were completely unaware of the lyrical context of their father’s off-key, mellow and slowed-down rendition of this bluesy Canadian classic. 

You want to know the song, right? You won’t believe this. 

My husband’s lullaby selection was David Wilcox’s, Riverboat Fantasy. Yep. I’m serious. If you know, you know. If you don’t, let me preface it for you: it’s the story of a man from New Orleans in 1894 who indulges in all the vices (and I do mean all) alongside his sexy Cajun girlfriend on a riverboat in the Mississippi River. A party song, to be sure. A lullaby? Not even close.

David Wilcox was the soundtrack of our younger, wilder days. Good memories (well, at least I remember them, not sure about the Carpenter). Parenting may have ended the parties for us, but it didn’t end the music.

In the Carpenter’s defence, it’s the only song he knew all the words to. He didn’t give it much more thought than that. When the moment called for a soothing song, he sang the only one he knew. And of course, because it’s the Carpenter, it worked every time.

I was oblivious to the song choice, because I was either working or cleaning up at the end of the day. I knew the Carpenter cherished these moments with our children, so I left him to it. Sacred time. 

He was great at settling our babies to sleep and I was grateful for his patience, humour and gentle nature with them. I also realized that he could rile the kids up with giggle fits, pillow fights and general silliness and then, just as quickly, shift the bedtime ritual to calm, comfort and quiet. That man was born to be a dad. I’m grateful for that.

One day, my Canadian music playlist is quietly playing in the background. I’m preparing dinner. My daughter, who is about 4 years old, was dismantling the plastic containers in a bottom drawer, while her brother, 2, napped in the next room. David Wilcox comes on the stereo, and she starts humming along to the melody. When the chorus comes on, she sings aloud the title words, “Riverboat Fantasy.” I freeze. What did she just say? Did I hear that right? What? How? Huh?

To this day, when that song comes on, our grown children laugh because they know every word and can’t believe this was their father’s lullaby choice. But I know they also realize how fortunate they were to have a dad who sang to them to help scare away the monsters they feared lived in their closets – monsters that only their brave dad could slay. 

As memories go, I think that’s a good one. Happy Father’s Day, Carpenter. And to my dad, who didn’t sing lullabies but was one heck of a dancer: thank you both for being the kind of fathers all children deserve, and the partners all mothers deserve.