Why I Cry When I Hear "The Battle of New Orleans"

My dad was a songwriter. He would take tunes to old country songs and rewrite the lyrics to tell the major stories of the Bible or funny situations found within a church. Come to think of it, I guess maybe the country songs weren't old when he originally wrote them. By the time I was old enough to listen and remember, the songs seemed old. But his songs were silly, and many of the Bible stories were related to the title of the original song. For example, he used the tune of "Please Help Me I'm Falling" to tell the story of David and Goliath. He always talked about rewriting Eddie Rabbitt's "I Love a Rainy Night" to tell the story of Noah. I don't think that song ever got written. His songs always appealed to an older audience that readily recognized those songs. He would sit down at a church piano, begin to play, and I always knew when to expect the laughter from the church congregation. I knew the timing of the punchlines. Because these songs were not the popular songs of my generation, I didn't know many of the original versions of these old songs. I knew the tunes, but I had never heard the songs in any other context than my dad singing his sermon songs, as he called them. Roger Miller's "King of the Road" was only "King of the Church" in my mind, a song about an unruly church member who refused to cooperate with church leadership. Side note: I understand that song way more at the age of 43 than I did when I was 8. But guess what. I still don't know all of the real words to "King of the Road."

I started teaching American History in 2014. I was brand new to teaching History, and I did well to stay two steps ahead of my students. I was relearning as they were learning. But as a former music teacher, I quickly began using music in the classroom to help solidify facts and ideas in their minds. I learned a song naming all of the presidents of the United States when I was in sixth grade. I can still sing that song. In that song, I can sing every president up to President Bush. The first one. When teaching about slavery, I play the call and response songs that were sung in the cotton fields of the south- the songs of hope and pain and looking forward to freedom in heaven. When we study the 1970's, we listen to "Bohemian Rhapsody" and John Lennon's "Imagine" to discuss the culture of the 70's. And when I teach on the War of 1812, I play Johnny Horton's "The Battle of New Orleans." And every year I cry a little.

"The Battle of New Orleans" was one of those songs that I never knew in any other context than my dad's music. He had rewritten the lyrics to tell the story of Jonah, and when he told the part about Jonah finally going to Ninevah like God had told him to, he kept many of the lyrics of the original song, "He ran through the briars and he ran through the brambles and he ran through the bushes where the rabbits couldn't go." So when I decided to play the song for my students for the first time, the nostalgia of those words were just too much. My dad was still alive and in a coma that first year, but the tears were a total surprise. And every year I think I'll be fine. And every year, I'm not. I'm getting better. I've never cried to the point where my students have really noticed. I'm not a sobbing mess. I make it through without being a huge weirdo.

And you might wonder why I still play it. Why wouldn't I recognize that the song triggers some strong emotions and find a different song to play? Because I still smile when I hear it. Even if I tear up a little. It makes me laugh. It brings back memories of sitting on church pews and listening to the crowd go wild at the cleverness of it all. As wild as a church full of Baptists can get.

Maybe one day I'll listen to it without tears. I'll just smile and sing along quietly as my students listen. I look forward to it. But I don't expect that I'll ever know all the right words, and I'm fine with that.