My father had a Jheri Curl hairstyle, green Polo fragrance, and the finest vocals that finally shaped my world forever.

On top of his dark brown drawer, there are numerous glass bottles of cologne, and I can still smell my favorite, the green Polo, which combines the grassy notes of Artemisia, basil, and thyme with the spicy notes of cumin, coriander, and cloves.

The only reason I know that is because I worked at a downtown Nordstroms retail store in the mid-1990s. If you locate a bottle, please give it to me as a gift. In fact, that would be the one present I would want because it reminds me of him.

The sense of scent has been scientifically linked to memory. I'm sure if you were blinded and the tops of 100 babies' heads came up to your nose, you'd be able to identify your child.

My father had nearly every foul-smelling aftershave and fragrance in my small universe. My father was the green Polo bottle. It's not the most vivid memory I have of him. Thanks to the Jheri curl spray, his hair would ruin any window or mirror within 4-6 inches of his Kool and the Gang look; his favorite music band.

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I was maybe 5 or 6 years old. For all I knew, it could have been Saturday.

"I'm not looking outside because I know that's not the song."

One early Sunday morning, I thought to myself.

I despised him for pulling up after the massive argument they had. He and my mother divorced, and I witnessed the first domestic abuse I never should have witnessed. It wasn't too horrible. I think that married couples quarrel often, then divorce, and the father disappears.

I'm sure every little boy's mother urged their sons to swear to be good from now on when they were left off at daycare for the first time after their father walked out. I believe that most young males sobbed themselves to sleep for the majority of their childhood.

Yet, as for me, I became used to hearing the melody come up the hill to the Pentecost apartment complex on Federal Boulevard.

"That’s not it, sister," I shouted. "I know what Daddy's ice cream truck sounds like. Be quiet because that’s not it."

Do you want to hear what it sounds like? How about you hear where it originated from first?

I decided to look up the song's lyrics because I will never forget the tune, which had to have been played a billion times.

“Now the moon shines tonight on pretty Red Wing,

The breeze is sighing, the night bird's crying,

For afar 'neath his star her brave is sleeping.

While Red Wing's weeping her heart away.”

I doubt my father understood what this song meant. It was about an Indian widow who had lost her spouse in a battle. I doubt that most businesses are aware that the majority of these songs were composed by racists, or that they even know the words.

The truth is that the average ice cream truck driver chooses a random song that he believes youngsters would enjoy, learn, and, of course, go outside to purchase the treats.

Try hearing the song with an ice cream truck if it doesn't immediately sound familiar:

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My father came to see me today, but this time was different. He didn't just show up, hand me any ice cream treats I wanted, and then drive away 15 minutes later. I believe it was on a Sunday when he played another incredible song that would stay with me forever.

"I can go with my Daddy on the ice cream truck today, Mommy."

I muffed, as I brushed away the tears.

These tears stopped short this weekend because I was on the way to my first piece of entrepreneurship. The best thing my father has ever done for me in life is business.

I don’t know if these two steep steps were frigid or if it was the deep freezer immediately to the left when you pass the driver’s seat. I can’t recall ever sitting down as we rushed down the hill to get customers.

In the 1980s, we were 1000 percent tougher than these children nowadays, and I know that I didn’t have a seat to sit on, let alone a seatbelt for safety. Yes, this was before Nancy Reagan.

My father had to have had the song on a cassette tape. No pack of batteries inside a little boom box would survive so long. Besides, no other man, I believed, was this nuts.

My father belted out the most majestic harmony and melody I'd ever heard from a human at the top of his lungs. He played this one song more than the infinite number of times "Red Wing" would play on the exterior speakers of his white ice cream truck with the American flag painted outside around the top.

_____

I'm not sure if my eyes were watering from the whipping wind or from staring at this man blowing the most amazing notes and melodies I've ever heard, over and over and over again.

This is his favorite part—the climax. I now know the song by heart, so I'll let Jamie Foxx tell you how it went.

“I asked her for her hand.

I said would you like to dance?

So please that I had asked,

She quickly took my hand.

And we danced and fell in love,

On a slow…. Jammm! Whoa-who-who who!”

That day, my father had the best time of his life with me, singing his heart out to "Slow Jam."

My father's voice was heavenly. His voice powers were flawless. I will never forget and will always miss his heavenly love for this music.

My father taught me to value who you are, how you sound, and how to sing as if nothing else matters in the world. Thank you very much, Dad. I adore you and miss your amazing voice. In heaven, I can hear you.

“That magic in his eyes made me realize that everything I feel has got to be real.”

P.S. Since I was a small child, I have had a special place in my heart for this tale. It has been a good blessing for my spirit to share my experience. I appreciate your reading.