Debby Montgomery Johnson, #1 Best Selling Author, International businesswoman, is a woman on a mission. In her book, “The Woman Behind the Smile” she shares her personal experience with a love that turned into betrayal and financial disaster and she removes the mask of shame and shows others how to do the same.
A Daughter’s Reflections on Her 96-Year-Old Father, Memory, and the Songs That Still Make Him Smile There is something extraordinary that happens when music fills the room where my father sits. At ninety-six years old, his hearing is not what it used to be, but the moment a familiar melody begins, his entire demeanor changes. His shoulders straighten. His eyes brighten. And his foot starts tapping in perfect rhythm and as if the years melt away, he’s once again the young man who smiled, swayed, and believed the world was full of possibility.
I’ve seen this transformation countless times, but it never ceases to amaze me. My father, Dr. Jack, has always been a man of science and precision — a dentist by profession, a problem-solver by instinct, and a storyteller something softer takes over. The careful, methodical doctor becomes the dreamer again, the husband who watched his wife sing in the kitchen, and the father who whistled while he worked. Music awakens the chuckle. “We used to sing it in the car when your brothers were little. Your mother loved John Denver.”
Then, almost unconsciously, he began to sing along: “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…” In that moment, time folded in on itself. The living room faded away, and I could almost see him as he was decades ago with hands on the steering wheel, windows down, the family car alive with laughter and slightly off-key harmonies.
That’s what music does for him. It’s not background noise; It’s a bridge to the past.
Each song is a key, unlocking a door to memory and emotion that even age cannot close.
Dad’s musical journey spans nearly a century. He grew up with big-band legends like Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman, but his heart has always belonged to storyteller singers who captured the tenderness of ordinary life.
Mary. He liked songs that were simple, honest, and human.
But one stands out above the rest, “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” Whenever that song plays, something special happens. He leans back, closes his eyes, and listens as if he’s hearing it for the first time.
“Your mother loved this one,” he’ll say softly. “And isn’t this ironic that John Denver died in a plane crash?” That’s a true statement – 30 years after he wrote the song.
Then, with a half-smile, he’ll hum along: “I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again…” It’s tender and bittersweet and not a song about leaving anymore, but about love that endures, no matter how far the years carry us.
Because in those moments, my father isn’t simply remembering the past, he’s living in the present and hoping for the future. The music brings him back to himself.
When my children visit, I keep what they jokingly call “Grandpa’s Playlist” ready to go, although ALEXA has 12 of his “Playlists” on hand whenever he calls! The first notes of John Denver or ABBA usually earn a laugh, but before long, everyone’s singing along.
Dad watches them with quiet pride. “See?” he says. “Good music never goes out of style.”
And he’s right. For a few minutes, the years dissolve. Three generations – a ninety- six-year-old man, his daughter, and his grandchildren all swaying to the same melody, sharing one heartbeat across time.
After my mother passed, Dad only listened to music by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on Sundays with me. He didn’t have a good radio station on the TV anymore, so he stressed out watching the daily news. I felt like something had to change in his daily routine.
So one afternoon, we sat together and played with Alexa and set up the ECHO I put beside his recliner chair. He was amazed how quickly the playlists were assembled and how loud he could get the volume changed with a simple phrase “ALEXA, Volume Up!” I was amazed at the recall of his “oldies and goodies!”
“Dad – I remember mom singing in the kitchen as she prepared dinner. Do you remember the song she sang or hummed? I’m having a senior moment!”
“I don’t remember her singing that much anymore,” he said sadly.
“ALEXA, play 50’s music,” we said and the 5 th song to come up was “IT!” Wafting over the airwaves came “She asked me how I knew…” and I almost cried. I could Every time I see my father’s eyes light up at the first strum of a steel band or hear him hum a tune that outlived its decade, I realize I’m seeing something sacred.
Music brings him home and back to her, to us, to himself.
And as long as he can hear the melody, the man he’s always been will never fade.
Because in our family, love has always had a soundtrack. And it’s still playing.