Oui, Six Kings.

It's so beyond late. Beyond beyond beyond. And yet, the page beckons. An evening enticement. Or, so it was supposed to be when I started forming sentences in my head hours ago, miles away from my computer. There is sleep before 2 a.m., is there not? As yesterday was somewhat more than monumental, I feel the need to expound.

The King's Singers. They basically equal my childhood when it comes to certain things. Some of you may stop reading right there. Others of you, those of you who know the Royal Rhythms and Catchy Crooning of which I speak, may wish to continue. If it weren't for my Uncles (K, P, B, R, and D, respectively, correct me if I'm wrong) I would have thought that those Gents from King's College were the brains behind such tunes as "You Are The New Day," "The Boxer," and "American Pie." Now I may have lost the rest of you entirely. But, as mentioned above, my mom has seven brothers (who later found seven brides). They versed her well in all things Lennon and McCartney; Simon and Garfunkel. She then passed that knowledge on to us, as well as her love for the classic contemporary (Rutter, etc.) And hey, jamming to six guys who can sound like a symphony all their own, no instruments needed, was pretty cool.

Trips to the cabin, Sunday drives to Bountiful ("The Other Lot," if you will) and the Every Day were soundtracked and accompanied by those six guys from across that Great Big Pond. Dad would sing the First Tenor part, hitting all the high notes in perfect harmony. I would close my eyes and imagine him as one of them, Uncle Robert, heading up the baritone part. One night I had a dream that Dad and Uncle Robert were the first American King's Singers. It was quite vivid and very exciting. If I close my eyes, I can still picture what Robert and Dad looked like, in fuzzy dream form.

When it was announced that The King's Singers were coming to sing with the Tabernacle Choir for their Christmas concert, the Fetzer household was high-fiving it up, singing Riu, riu, chiu! as we danced about the kitchen.

As I watched that Sextet walk onto the platform in The Conference Center last night, childhood memories flooded back, creating a pond all my own. They harmonized, blended, intoned and entertained, leaving us all charmed. It was, for lack of a better word, exciting. However, the thing that I'll remember about the evening won't be their clever Brit-wit, their lightning-fast rendition of "Jingle Bells," nor their synchronicity. The best part about last night, the thing I'll remember long past this holiday season, is how I felt when I saw Dad up there, larger than life in front of a crowd of over 21,000, blending with those British Boys, looking more handsome than ever. Way to go, Dad. He's not only living his own dream, he's living mine.