Last Updated on April 26, 2012 by Roff Graves

This memory was inspired by an email from an artistand fiddler  in Texas, Harold Rains—.I was born and spent my early years in Texas–My dad loved the fiddle, tho he often referred to it as his violin. He never really played well but when he got mad at mom he would go into his room, lock the door and start playing his violin. Fond memories—olRoff

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