When Mary Kay asked me to pen something about my father's "beautiful" whistle, as she put it, I had to laugh. From as far back as I can remember, my father has always been a whistler. He has been known to whistle any time of day, or even in the middle of the night when he has trouble sleeping.

Now whistling is a good thing, I think, indicative of a happy state of mind. It can even be charming or amusing, or at least some former or present neighbors such as Willie Mount or Nancy Draughn have led me to believe.

 

My father, however, has a limited repertoire of whistling tunes. His favorite has always been the Notre Dame fight song, better known locally as, "Beer, beer for ole Lake Charles High." It is even my old high school theme song, a sentimental favorite, but after a few rounds, the tune becomes sufficient. Since Daddy is, to this day, oblivious to the fact that he is indeed whistling, therein lies the problem. I can often recall my mother saying, "Glenn, change your tune." My siblings and I have been known to take up her mantra in recent years. Daddy also whistles church hymns, a habit that has led many neighbors to assume he is Baptist. (He is Presbyterian.) In short, if one hears whistling on Pithon St., the souce is likely to be Daddy. In his ninth decade many things have slowed down, but the whistling - no way!!