Once upon a time
A girl with moonlight in her eyes
Put her hand in mine
And said she loved me so
But that was once upon a time
Very long ago

It is one of my earliest memories. My family is heading home late on a Sunday night. It’s winter. My father is at the wheel, my mother beside him on the passenger side. She’s wearing a mink coat. It’s long before fur becomes unacceptable. The radio is tuned to WPAT, a station that features soft music. Sinatra is singing “Once Upon a Time.” From the back seat, my hands find the softness of my mother’s coat. The Parkway miles disappear beneath us in the cold Jersey night. The world is perfect.

A few years later she would say, “Someday you’ll grow up and appreciate good music.” By then The Beatles were here, and I was waving the rock ‘n’ roll flag high. “Not a chance,” I would reply derisively. You can afford to be smug when you’re a know nothing kid. In case I never told you, Mom, thanks, you were right again.

In the wee small hours of the morning
While the whole wide world is fast asleep
You lie awake and think about the girl
And never ever think of counting sheep

Flash forward to the ‘90s. It’s Saturday night. Date night. Now I’m in the driver’s seat, and Susan is next to me. The mellow voice coming from the radio is that of Sid Mark, with his “Saturday With Sinatra” program. Mark’s theme song is “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning,” and the song’s opening notes fill me with a warmth that will have to light many lonely nights when the girl leaves me for an older man who will give her the security that I cannot provide.

I’m wild again
Beguiled again
A whimpering, simpering child again
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I (more…)