Tell It To Me In Song

The Union family loves The Sound of Music. Dad in particular was always willing to pop on the nearly three hour film and sing wildly to each of the songs. Ellen and I wondered how old we were when we first watched it and I have one very distinct memory watching it while sitting on the floor in my parent's bedroom, eating popcorn from a holiday tin. I was six then and had already seen it many times. So we've realized Olivia is ready to be handed the tradition.

Throughout our 35 years as a family, it has not been uncommon for any of us to spontaneously belt out the songs from the film. Dad again, in particular, was commonly found speaking as Mother Abbess or even having a conversation as Maria and the head nun. Once when Mom announced that she had something to say to the whole family, Dad eagerly responded in a British accent requesting, "Tell it to me in song, Reverend Mother!" 
We've never stopped laughing about it.

So when Ellen saw that the Broadway folks are doing a Sound of Music national tour, the family group text had affirmatives all the way round. "Book the tickets!"

It was just the four of us - the original Unions. We went to a Turkish restaurant before the show. That's not important information but I'm leaving it here as part of the memory. We got to the performance hall, found our seats, and settled in to be delighted. Ellen assured us (Dad) ahead of time that people would be signing along, so we could definitely belt out our favorites. In front of us were a few middle-aged women. Behind us, a mother and child. To the left, just some more humans. I'll go ahead and tell you that by the time the show ended, our little foursome was an island. All the people near us had left at intermission and never come back. Was it the show? The seats? The 65 year old man that couldn't stop laughing?

The play was great - for the record. The singers were notably talented, the sets were beautiful, the Von Trapp kids - adorable. The crowd though, was stoic. They were not singing along. They were not bobbing in their seats. They were not anticipating the next line and delivering it a little too loudly. And then there was Dad. He was bouncing his legs, dancing with his hands, and becoming more and more amused by his enthusiasm in such polite company. And as anyone with a precious father can tell you, once they see that they're making their kids laugh, the ante will be upped. There's no stopping a dad bringing joy to his family. When Fraulein Maria was asked if she loves Captain Von Trapp, Dad answered a hiccupy sob of "Oh, I don't know!" just before the lead actress did. He didn't mean to say it as loudly as he did, so Ellen and I snotted out sudden laughs at the same time, none of which was appreciated by the people in front of us. 

Then came a favorite song, The Lonely Goatherd. We sing this while we play cards. We sing this to break the silence in long car rides. We sing this when we hear a sound that sounds even remotely like a yodel. Years ago, during a long car ride, I needed to go the bathroom but we were ages from an exit. I sang to distract myself and concocted a masterpiece to the tune of The Lonely Goatherd. A short sample:

Ho ho, get me to a bathroom.
Ho ho, I must do a job.
Yo ho, it will be a blowout!
She's walking like she's got a cob.

(Get her to the bathroom. 
Where's the nearest bathroom? 
Get her to that bathroom now!)

The stall on the right is the only one open.
Turn around, lock the door, drop your drawers!

Anyways, we all burst out laughing when that song started because we were all singing the bathroom version in our heads. We really tried not to be obnoxious but we couldn't help it. There was also some serious moment when Dad did something riotously funny - I can't remember now what is was - but Ellen, Dad and I were stifling our laughter to the point of tears and sweating, and holding our hands next to our faces so we couldn't see each other. When the scene ended and the audience cheered, I let out some blasting cackles just to relieve some pressure. Dad was shocked when they sang songs he'd never heard before, outraged when the changed the order of the songs ("They can't do that!"), and miffed as the audience held in their enthusiasm. After intermission we rearranged seats and put Dad down on Ellen's end so she'd have to babysit him for the back half. With Dad out of sight, it was much easier to focus on the play, though anytime I checked, his knees were bouncing and he was conducting the orchestra with his hands. 

I certainly can't speak for the people near us, but we all had a great time. 

Beloved simpletons.