In late 1976, Dad deployed to Subic Bay Naval Base in the Philippines. Mom and Dad decided to take advantage of this and at some point, Mom and I would fly over for an extended visit since neither she nor I had been back since shortly after I was born. To minimize the amount of school I missed, it was decided we'd fly over mid-December and spend Christmas and New Year's in the Philippines.
As our departure date neared, the ramifications of not spending Christmas in our home dawned on me. We didn't have a fireplace because, well, South Mississippi, so I always placed my Christmas list for Santa next to our tree. This year, we wouldn't even be putting up a tree. How in the world would Santa get my list? My six-year-old self devoted a lot of mental energy wrestling with this dilemma and came up with a brilliant solution - multiple copies placed in strategic locations. I placed a copy where our tree normally stood, another copy by the back door, one by the front door, and one in my room as a failsafe. I can only imagine what Mom was thinking as I made these preparations. "Well, I guess you must really want Santa to bring you something special this year."
"Yeah! I want a ukelele!"
"Ummm. A what?"
"A ukelele! Santa will know to bring it to the Philippines, right? Because we won't be here?"
I didn't understand the look of utter trepidation and bewilderment on Mom's face. Even as a six-year-old, I knew the North Pole's logistics department was second to none. I nodded confidently, "Yeah. Santa won't let me down." For some reason, Mom was rubbing her temples and shaking her head.
Santa came through. On Christmas Day, halfway around the world, in a place that had likely never before seen such a thing, I had my ukelele.
While I was pretty jazzed, I didn't know how to play it. Over the next few days and weeks, Dad taught me some fundamental scales and cords to get me started. When I realized mastery wouldn't happen overnight, I got discouraged and set it aside. I tried off and on over the years to get into it, but could never do it justice. Periodically, Dad would pick it up and seemingly without effort, strummed out some ditty more melodious than my ham fingered plucking ever produced.
When my musical interest sparked again in college, I decided a regular 6-string was a better chick magnet than a ukelele. For the rest of my collegiate career, the guitar was my musical release rather than that hard-won uke gifted to me over a decade before. One visit home after Andrea and I were already in Maryland, I looked for it in the back of my closet. Unfortunately, it was lost in one of Mom's infamous purges.
What drew me to the ukelele in the first place? I can't even tell you. It's likely just one of my idiosyncrasies - I've been known to fall asleep to bagpipe music. However, in the hands of someone who knows what they're doing, ukes can be soothingly melodic.
This cover of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" is from Israel Kamakawiwoʻole, or "Iz" for short, who was regarded as a treasure of the Hawaiian people. I first heard this on the closing credits of Fifty First Dates, and it's been on my "Chill" playlist ever since.
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