Ever since birth, at least as far as my own is concerned, life has been a series of left-hand turns into the right places.

Last Sunday at church, for the first time ever, I joined with a knowing congregation to sing “I’m a Little Tea Pot.”

I did not display the requisite gestures, as I had never seen or learned before how one becomes the handle and spout of a tea pot, but then

I prefer coffee.

What a magnificent song!

Did you ever learn this musical metaphor?

In kindergarten or first grade?

“I’m a little tea pot, short and stout. Here is my handle. Here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout. Tip me over and pour me out!”

It is one thing to have lived this long without ever seeing movies like “The Ten Commandments,” “The Sound of Music” or the ever-popular sci-fi thriller “Son of Newt Gingrich,” but to have gone down this road of life without knowing “I’m a Little Tea Pot” gives me pause.

Let me pause now for a moment while I put on a Perry Como album.

Yes, I still play my records.

They are all over the kitchen floor.

Some are in orange crates.

Some are in plastic containers.

Some are in vodka boxes retrieved from cardboard heaven, aka the local liquor stores.

Thanks to Langley Nancy and Freeland Ken, their empty booze boxes continue to protect my Annette Funicello albums, my Merv Griffin albums, my only Richard Chamberlain album, “Dr. Kildare Just Sings,” and that timeless classic, “The Best of Ben Casey,” with duets by Vince Edwards and Dr. Zorba.

I have a very extensive collection of 78s, 45s and 33-and-a-third albums because I refuse to throw away gifts from our mother.

Mom paid for most of my record albums, although the money used was allegedly my allowance for mowing the yard.

At two bucks a week, I know our mother paid more than I earned while mowing with Dad’s bright red Toro.

Can you imagine a kid today mowing the yard for a Perry Como album?

I’ve mowed yards for Eddie Fisher, Vic Damone, Doris Day and Fats Domino.

Of course, I had to sneak the Fats 45 into the house underneath a Perry Como record because Mom was from Mississippi.

If that makes no sense, write a letter of inquiry to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid.

Please include this column so we can see if he actually Reids his mail.

My all-time favorite album cover covers an album

I purchased at a great store near Hood River, Ore. called Good Karma.

Cousin Camille and Pal Jennifer joined me on this recent excursion to retrieve a gospel album by The Exleys titled, “I Shall Not Be Moved.”

This album cover shows a picture of the two brothers and one sister family trio standing next to two furniture dollies.

I suppose calling the album Hello Dollies would have been too much.