My date and I sat on the sofa with a sibling and a nephew wondering how to spend the evening, whether to watch a movie or play a game or just talk. “We could sing songs!” Mom piped up. “Do you know ‘I’m Looking Over a Four-leaf Clover’?” And she launched into the 1927 song with the unsteady tin of old voice:

I’m looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before.
One leaf is sunshine the other is rain. Third is the roses that grow in the lane.
No need explaining the one remaining is somebody I adore.
I’m looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before.

At first, I felt mortified, but my date knows and loves my mother and didn’t mind the cute oddity. I even found myself joining in, since I, too, know the old song. Still, I felt relieved when the verse ended. We quickly moved to casting family photos to the TV. When I voiced a frustration that I couldn’t manipulate the casted photos from my “Samsung,” Mom brightened: “You want to sing more songs?”