I've been singing one way or another all my life. My mother says I was singing "Tennessee Waltz" all the way through at two years old. She was my agent until the pediatrician she took me to told her to lay off.

I still sing, though now mostly to myself, occasionally accompanied by my guitar.

Cristie bought me this guitar for my birthday twenty-three years ago after my first one had been played out. A good friend who is now battling a brain tumor taught me how to play in college. I've been thinking of and praying for him since he received his diagnosis and dedicated a few songs to him this morning.

This guitar is my friend. I prefer to play it alone and when a little sad, though it performs well. I'm not very accomplished on it, knowing only a few basic picking patterns and chords. My stubby fingers weren't meant to ever master a bar chord.

Sam, Dave, and Melissa all play and sing much better than I do, but that is as it should be and is the proper order of things. Strains of folk and mountain music run strongly through our family, probably placed there by our ancestors. It's a beautiful thing to hear my children and grandchildren play and sing.