I am often asked, when did you start singing? I tell them when I was five years old, living in Jefferson City, Missouri, where my father,  a captain in the US Army, was assigned to instruct ROTC. One evening during Christmas, the family watched television in the living room. The Vienna Boys Choir was on the screen, an internationally known choral group. There was a soloist singing “Oh Holy Night”, and naturally, I chose to imitate him. My father, a platoon leader in the Korean War, a “Pork Chop Hill” survivor and recipient of three Purple Hearts, was rolling on the floor laughing and profusely crying simultaneously. My mother and I did not know quite what to make of it. It was the only time I ever saw him cry. I still don’t know what to make of it; let's call it ambiguous approval. What I was sure of, is that I hit every note.

Nonetheless, it was my new thing then and every performance thereafter. Frank Sinatra coined it best in his hit song, Just in Time. “ Now I'm here, and now I know just where I'm going, no more doubt or fear because I found my way.”