Nothing dates a person like her repertoire of songs. My repertoire is a rusty, dusty, relic of a long ago yesterday. In my school days, both as a student and as a teacher, we began the day with singing, the Flag Salute, and the Lord’s Prayer. At Valley Center, one of the best elementary schools I attended, we had a red song book, a yellow song book, a student who played the piano, and a teacher who liked to sing. 
Music at school and music at home. Dad would sing old hymns or cowboy songs and Mom would sing songs she learned as a girl. Little Joe, the Wrangler (what a sad song), Home on the Range, Loch Lomond, Flow Gently, Sweet Afton, and other pretty melodies.
The songs that were popular in the ’50s and ’60s were love songs or funny or just silly, but they had a beat and I could understand the words. Sometimes I still listen to them on CDs or on special stations that play that kind of music. However, I’ve yet to hear a station play In the Gloaming.
I admit I don’t understand a lot of the modern music I hear. Maybe if I understood it, I’d like it better. I can’t tell the difference between the various modern genres, but there are many things about today’s culture I don’t understand; popular music is one of them.
I don’t know if the culture decides the songs or the songs decide the culture. I do know that what young people listen to, read, and watch has a great deal to do with their values and their core beliefs.
By this time, I’m sure I sound like a mean, old, grouchy, dusty relic. My youth, like the old songs, is long past, but I’m thankful that my repertoire of songs isn’t. Now and then, I go to the piano, and play, When You and I Were Young, Maggie. Now, that’s a song I can relate to.
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