Recently I was sitting in a restaurant when a familiar tune danced its way into my ears: a piano-only version of “My Way” by my grandfather’s favorite man…Frank Sinatra. As the piano sang for Frank, “I faced it all, and I stood tall, and did it my way,” I didn’t feel like I was in that cute little restaurant, but rather at my grandparent’s beach house on LBI during a lazy Sunday morning with Mr. Sinatra’s classic voice sneaking into my dreams and waking me up.
Every week–without fail–my grandfather, Joe Sr., blasts his old, beat-up transistor radio (one that should be in the trash, as we bought him a shiny new one for Father’s Day. I guess you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks…or give him a new radio). Now my Sunday mornings at the beach with him consist of timeless tunes like “Fly Me to the Moon”, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”, and “The Best Is Yet to Come” all remixed with my grandfather’s booming voice as he washes his car outside…for the whole street to hear.
Nothing is quite as funny as my grandfather shushing the whole family when one of his favorite Sinatra songs starts playing, “SHH. SHHH. Joey, shush…the best is yet to come, and babe, won’t it be fiiiine?” We all know that trying to lower the volume is a futile effort, as he’ll simply yell, “WOAH WOAH!”, look at you straight in the eye with an open-mouthed, devilish smile, then adjust the volume back to his liking. I think it’s safe to say that if good ol’ Frank was still crooning today, there’s no doubt my grandfather would be to Frank Sinatra what I am to One Direction and Taylor Swift…minus the screaming and crying at concerts.