And alone at the altar I stand

My dad was a rudimentary guitar player. The story goes that he used to play for square dances at the local Grange Hall. One time, a fight broke out and someone grabbed his guitar and broke it in the melee.

It could be a rural legend, but it is a fact that he never played much in my memory. But we always had a guitar in the house, and on a rare occasion he would pick it up and play his version of this song with a flatpick, warts and all.

Of course, my dad's rendition sounded nothing like this.

But I prefer to try to remember it this way, note for note.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.