When I was young, there was always music on in the Borepatch household. I got quite a good musical education, because there was all sorts of music that got played. My love of the Blues may go back to the Leadbelly records Dad would play. My friends were pretty impressed that he had bought The Beetle's album Revolver when it came out. Mom didn't like them so much, but Dad's musical taste was eclectic and catholic (although not Catholic). Long time readers will know that I inherited that from him.
But mornings were always for classical. Dad would say that while he was a morning person, even he liked to start the day with something soothing. Around our house, that was always the radio show Morning Pro Musica. Through the miracle of the Internet, one survives from the mists of time.
I hadn't known just how unusual this show was. It was sui generis - one of a kind. This was a reflection on the host, Robert J. Lurtsema. He hosted the show live every day - seven days a week. The show would start with a recording of birds that Lurtsema had recorded himself - he said this was the oldest music in the world and so was fitting as the introduction to the show. Dad always liked this - probably it played into "his start the day with something soothing" philosophy.
Morning Pro Musica no doubt was my real classical music education. Even only hearing it for part of a day or two (weekends, really) exposed me to what you've found here in the Sunday Classical posts. It wasn't for everyone, but you know how weird I am.
But it was often something that I'd listened to with Dad, especially when I was in my late teens and drinking coffee. We'd sometimes talk about the music and the composers while we listened to the music (well, he would talk; after all, he was the history professor).
Maybe it's because I just did a lot of gardening here at Castle Borepatch, but it made me realize that he approached fatherhood like a gardener approaches a yard. After all, you can't make a plant grow; all you can do is give it what it needs for growth. He never forced a view down my throat, but rather planted seeds in what I hope was fertile soil. Looking back, I see that I have had a very similar approach to my sons. I've only rarely had classical music discussions with them (#2 Son did quite like Holst's The Planets), but that's OK. Neither of my two brothers really became classical music buffs either. I had a quite unusual relationship with my father, and perhaps it was that with me the apple did not fall far at all from the tree.
And so to all my readers, happy Father's Day. Enjoy the memories if you (like me) are separated by geography or (like me) by that great veil we must all one day pass.