“Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear…”
Driving home today, I switched radio stations just in time to hear this come out of my speakers. It is the beginning of the song “Mack the Knife.” Yesterday I would have claimed no connection to this song. I’ve heard it in that vague recollection sort of way, kind of how I categorize co-workers or people from college. Sitting in my neon blue Chevy Lumina, I suddenly realized that Mack the Knife is a memory song. A memory song is where a song and the memory including the song have become so intertwined that one cannot separate the memory from the song.
Music has such an ability to change moods, none more than memory songs.
When I was five years old, my parents took me to Missouri for my grandparent’s anniversary. They had fifty years earlier, so the family was throwing them a huge party. I don’t remember most of the night because I was so young. Seeing my godparents and family members I’d never met, and ’80s hairstyles are all fuzzy in my mind.
Only dancing with my grandpa is clear.
I was so short I only reached his knees and my dancing skills consisted of twirling around in my new party dress. Listening to “Mack the Knife” this afternoon, that party and that dance with my grandpa came rushing back to me.
I started to feel depressed that my grandfather is gone, but then I thought about all I have left of him, from memories to his car, and I can’t help but smile.
Mack the Knife
