My dad worked for the post office department for years, sorting and working the mail on trains as they traveled from city to city. It wasn't exactly the most exciting occupation a kid's dad could have, but it was steady and solid — as was my dad — and I did sometimes have a little fun with it when someone would ask me what he did for a living. At that time, it was still mandatory for railway postal workers to carry guns — a carryover from the days of Jesse James — and I remember that I used to tell kids that my dad worked for the government, had a badge, and carried a gun in a shoulder holster. Their eyes would get wide and then they'd ask if he was in the FBI, but I'd just smile. (Eventually the postal service eliminated the guns.)

Dad loved music and somehow managed to always have a record player around the house, even in the early frugal days. Later, about the time I moved out and started my own family (hmmm), he bought himself a decent phonograph with a record changer attachment and would stack his albums up and play them for hours. I'd always thought it was a little funny that he wasn't really that big a fan of swing music, which was sort of the music of his era. Instead, he was crazy about marches, polkas, and light classical, which brings us to the song that triggered my memory, and that was always a favorite of his.

It's from Khachaturian's Gayane Ballet Suite, but it's better known by its short name, "Sabre Dance."

Dad, this one's for you.