I should have apologized to Dad.

But then ... he never complained ... to me.

Although I have a vague memory of Mom marching down (thump-thump-thump) into our basement.

“Keep it down. Your dad’s sleeping.”

He loved afternoon naps, even when he was a lot younger and I was a teen in high school. (He could only nap on weekends then, making them more precious.)

I now wonder where I found the courage to make all that noise while he was sleeping.

But ... Mom did not say stop. And I was obsessed, compelled and driven.

I was addicted to this one song.

That’s right. The noise I’m talking about is singing. Me singing along to one particular song.

Even now after roughly 55 years have passed, when that song pops out of the airwaves, I want to start singing.

I know all the words. Because I played it over and over again. And then again.

The basement echoed my voice mixing with the ’45 I had spinning. (Yes, I still have it.)

Over and over it began:

“When Liberty Valance rode to town the womenfolk would hide, they’d hide.”

That’s right. “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.”

Don’t laugh. The song grows on you.

“When Liberty Valance walked around the men would step aside.”

The song tells a story, which is spelled out in much more detail in the movie of the same name. An enjoyable movie that oddly did not use the song.

I didn’t care. I loved the song. Actually, I loved singing the song.

“‘Cause the point of a gun was the only law that Liberty understood. When it came to shootin’ straight and fast — he was mighty good.”

Perhaps it was not the song as much as the artist belting out the lyrics.

Gene Pitney. Anything he sang I loved. And bought. I have several other Pitney 45s and LPs.

And I sang along with most of them. Which was a painful process, by the way.

Pitney had range. And amazing lungs.

So singing along to Liberty Valance was kind of rough on my throat. Because I tried soooo hard to sound just like Pitney.

I certainly was not singing to hear my own voice. I am not into karaoke. While crooning in my basement, there was no audience. (Moms do not count.)

OK. Yes. It would be hard to resist even with an audience. That song pulls me in. The cadence and that Pitney whine.

“From out of the east a stranger came, a law book in his hand, a man. The kind of a man the West would need to tame a troubled land.”

As a teen I was into music a lot. (Pretty normal, I think.) I leaned into music that spoke to me.

Maybe that’s why we tend to speak back. When a song feels right you start to sing your feelings.

Even though I’m not a big karaoke crasher I find myself singing along. Even if I don’t know the words.

And we often don’t know the exact lyrics. Right? Tell me you don’t sound out the words that seem to fit.

For years my wife thought “One tin solder rides away” was about a wanton soldier.

And I still need to look up the exact words for “House of the Rising Sun.” (Another song that begs you to sing along.)

Ahhh, but we all have special songs and know all the words.

“When the final showdown came at last, a law book was no good.”

What is it that gets us humming? Toes tapping. What prompts that shake, rattle and roll or the easy spin and slide?

What makes us start singing?

“Everyone heard two shots ring out, a shot made Liberty fall. The man who shot Liberty Valance, he shot Liberty Valance. He was the bravest of them all.”

I don’t know. Perhaps there’s music inside all of us always waiting to get out.

I know this. With the right song, at the right moment, it just happens.

And ...  it feels good. Simple as that. Doesn’t matter why.

LONNY CAIN, of Ottawa, is the retired managing editor of The Times. Email to lonnyjcain@gmail.com or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.