While pop songs are almost always about love and most of them are romantic in nature, I have received submissions to my One Song-One Story project that are about the love between a parent and child. As I think about how to write this book on the impact of music in our lives, I’m imagining a chapter devoted to meaningful songs like “Wind Beneath My Wings” and “Leader of the Band”: songs that honor our parents as the heroes and role models they often are. For today’s blog, though, I’m sharing a mother and child story that is loving but also expresses the difficult relationship we can have with our parents.
Stuart Wakefield’s song and story begins with a memory of when, at a young age, he and his mother went to visit his grandparents. A lifelong resident of England, Stuart’s story opens with, “It was the kind of trip that always filled me with excitement. As we drove, the eternal greyness of Newcastle gave way to the glorious sunshine of the Essex coast.”
To accompany them on this road trip, Stuart and his mother listened to a collection of the Andrews Sisters’ greatest hits, which, he noted, “we had on repeat.” But when one song in particular played, Stuart felt that “something magical happened.” That song? A gorgeous ballad of unrequited love, “I Can Dream, Can’t I?” Here’s how Stuart describes the magic he felt:
“My mum and I sang together, our voices blending in harmony that felt effortless and joyful. She had always dreamed of being an actress, but life got in her way. From the age of five, I’d shared that love of performance, and she supported my dream wholeheartedly. In that car, as the harmonies swirled around us, we were both happy—simply and purely.”
Stuart’s story feels magical indeed, expressed with a child’s sense of wonder. But his story doesn’t end there.
“Looking back, I realise that moment was the closest I’d ever felt to my mum…That trip captured everything good about our relationship: joy, connection, and shared love for the arts. But life isn’t always as perfect as a song. Later in her life, we became estranged, and she passed away from dementia without me knowing how ill she was.”
This unexpected shift in Stuart’s tender story brought up something painfully true for me. The relationship I had with my parents suffered when I decided to head out on a road unlike theirs. As I listened to “I Can Dream, Can’t I?,” I heard the conflict between the sweet innocence of childhood and the harsh realities of life.
I'm aware my heart is a sad affair
the Andrews Sisters sang
There's much disillusion there
But I can dream, can't I?
It seems to me that Andrews Sisters song gave all of us, including young Stuart, a gift we may someday need. I believe this because of how Stuart ends his story, after his mom’s passing. “That loss and distance could have overshadowed our earlier closeness, but instead, ‘I Can Dream, Can't I?’ has become a bridge back to that drive, that sunshine, and that harmony.”
Isn’t this one of a song’s greatest gifts? How it can become a bridge to those we’ve loved and lost, and how it can help us heal from our hurt. “For me,” Stuart shares, “it’s a reminder of how fleeting moments of connection can be—and how powerful music is in preserving them. In those few minutes of singing together, everything was right with the world, and that memory will always stay with me.”
And you, dear reader? What song reminds you of your mom or dad, whether the story is filled with love or love encumbered with regret? You can share your story here. By doing so, you very well could be helping someone lovingly recall their parents.
