Mom and Dad amicably divorced when I was 6. For most of my childhood it was just me and her. We were poor, but I would never know it. My mom went to extraordinary lengths to lift me up and support whatever endeavors I took an interest in while growing up. In seventh grade, I wanted to learn to play the drums, so she signed me up at the local music store—I rarely missed a weekly music lesson. She became a proud middle school and high school band mom, attending all the student recitals, orchestra and marching band appearances, competitions, and band fundraisers. I found out years later that Mom had hawked her wedding ring to buy me my first drum set. Not once did she complain when I would practice for hours in our Florida house with terrazzo floors. She saved up to buy an upright piano, and to watch her play was magical. She never had a lesson but could easily pick out the melody lead in a chord by ear, and her fingers would magically “go” with what was in her head. Watching her play laid the groundwork for my reverence of melody. I wrote my first songs on that piano. Hysterically and unbeknownst to me, one day she simply walked unannounced through an open side door at the Sportatorium (for those who know, know) and sat in the stands watching a sound check until Barry Manilow’s manager came around and told her that she was not allowed to be there, gently asking her to leave—not before she handed him a cassette of her daughter’s songs to give to Barry, of course. After I graduated high school, she gave up having a garage and allowed my first band to build a rehearsal space and recording studio in it. She is my champion and the love and light in my heart. Please help me wish my fabulous mother and amazing human being a very HAPPY 90th BIRTHDAY!! Love you, Mom!!!! ❤️🥳🎂🎉🎈.