Friday, January 30, 2015 was a day made for legends.
On Christmas morning, a little over a month ago, I was
surprised with a gift from my wife. We had agreed not to exchange gifts due to
our budgetary bind, but she said she just couldn’t resist. Furthermore, she
mentioned my two brothers were getting the same present. Baffled but excited I
opened the envelope she had handed me and unfolded a printout of a ticket to
see Lyle Lovett and Vince Gill in North Charleston on January 30.
Instant entry into the “Best Christmas Gifts Ever” file.
My brothers also made a deposit into their files that
morning.
As the weeks pass, we make the necessary arrangements to
free ourselves of our typical Friday affairs and decide to meet at the home of
my parents, centrally located between our three homes and in close proximity to
I-26, the path to follow from West Columbia to our destination in North
Charleston.
Eventually, that highly-anticipated morning comes and, after
dropping the kids off at their respective schools, I arrive at our meeting
point to discover that my brothers would be delayed in their arrival by an hour
or so. So my father and I slip out for some breakfast at his favorite Waffle
House a couple of miles down the road.
As I peer through the steam swirling up from the
cream-thickened coffee in his pudgy porcelain mug, I look at my father’s aging
face and listen to his reflections on friends, family, life and it occurs to me
that this is one of those moments to cherish. Some stories I’ve heard before,
assuring their places in family lore. Others are new to me, and I can tell that
Pop enjoys telling them, imparting the wisdom only a dad can impart. While he
proudly divulges information about new acquaintances, many of the characters
are the same – his coffee drinking buddies from Zesto’s restaurant, some old
clients from his insurance days, distant relatives, the motley crew of friends
he had growing up in the coal-mining little town of Richlands, Virginia, and,
of course, the immediate family – all enjoying legendary status in our tight
circle.
I develop an overwhelming sense that this rare breakfast
date with Pop may well be the beginning of an entire day of memorable moments,
brimming with legendary tales of our lives and the lives of our heroes.
My sense would prove true.
Soon, my brothers and I set out on our two-hour trek to Charleston
and all it has to offer three 40-something brothers desperate for some bonding
time together and a brief respite from familial and career responsibilities. Our
evolving itinerary includes a good movie, good food, good beer, and a good
show. All of the particulars are hammered out along the way, plugged in at
appropriate intervals amidst the ongoing conversations on subjects brothers
discuss – some words of anticipation of the future near and distant, but mostly
reflections on life and the legends created along the way.
After a satisfying lunch that included a delicious jaunt
into dishes previously untried, we traverse the iconic Ravenel Bridge that
connects the barrier island of Mount Pleasant to the historical port city of
Charleston, and propose a possible bridge run in March. This quickly leads to a
discussion on the various successes and failures of our numerous exercise
regimens and the sorry side effects of aging. We come to no conclusions as our
sights quickly refocus on the next component of our journey – the cinema.
Our timing sets us up perfectly for the next showing of American Sniper. We enter with
chatter-filled anticipation and exit two hours and twelve minutes later in
silent admiration. Throughout the film, as Chris Kyle’s character must focus on
his responsibilities and balance between his oath to his country and his vow to
his wife and family, I can’t help but reflect on my own choices in priority.
I think back to the night before, after my daughter’s middle
school basketball game, when she was distraught after what she concluded was a
poor performance on her part. She turned to me for consolation. I guess I’ve
somehow earned that. Her quiet sobs into my sleeve revealed volumes and I was
grateful to be there. I’m grateful that she wanted me to feel her feelings, to
console her and to help her move forward.
Then, I recall my feelings as I dropped off my son at school
just that morning and watched him stroll down the sidewalk, the same sidewalk that
he and I typically share every day. On one front, I’m the teacher and he’s the
student – we’re both going to our jobs. On the other, he’s my son and I’m his
dad – together we’re taking on new experiences and growing intellectually,
emotionally, together and apart. I feel anxious but hopeful, lonely but proud,
and inadequate but blessed when I watch him head into the fray without me. I
wonder if I’ve prepared him for his lone journeys. I wonder if he’ll cherish
breakfasts with me one day.
I wonder if I’m holding up my end of the vow to my family.
Am I living up to my responsibility as a father and husband?
While watching Bradley Cooper convincingly play his role in
the movie, I find myself wanting to be a part of something grand, meaningful,
noble. I want to make a difference. I know what I do now seems to fit that
mold, but I search for something greater. As we slowly and solemnly file out of
the theatre in an awkward but reverent silence, we know we’ve been changed in
some way, at least for a while.
Then my brother Lew, sandwiched in age between Keith, the
youngest, and me, the eldest, abruptly shatters the thick somber atmosphere
with, “Well, that was pleasant.”
Chuckles ensue and we hit the play button on our briefly paused
day-long banter. The medley flows somehow seamlessly from favorite movies to
favorite restaurants to honey-do lists to college days to politics to sports to
sleep walking and eventually to a discussion on our next stop, a brief layover
en route to our ultimate destination that night.
We choose a happy hour spot, where we learn about the
Italian digestivo Fernet-Branca and sample its effectiveness – not caring if
it’s actual or contrived. More importantly, our reflections and observations
pour smoothly from car to street to tavern. Placing an order is not an
interruption, but rather an opportunity to interlace yet another perspective on
yet another subject. We reflect on the film, asking the rhetorical questions
and speculating on the answers, comparing the cinematic offering to the written
account. We contemplate the legends of the world and marvel at the legends in
our lives. Then, we move on.
We eventually make our way to the last stopover near the end
of the line, where we sample tacos and savor our fellowship, knowing it is
drawing to a close. Our hope for a brighter future intensifies as we share
dreams and make dreamers’ plans. Our humor switches in style like vehicles at a
busy intersection – sophomoric pulls out first, then British takes its turn,
followed by an anecdote, which suddenly yields to juvenile. The reactions are
hearty and unceasing. We celebrate our camaraderie, but, eventually, our
anticipation of the upcoming concert takes control as show time approaches.
After a quick perusal of snippets of our favorite Lovett and
Gill tunes, we vacate the minivan and file into the North Charleston Performing
Arts Center. We quickly realize that we are in the minority age group of
attendees, a good 20 years their juniors. Or, maybe that’s our misjudged
perspective and we actually fit into this category and do not realize it.
Still, we feel younger, more hip, more in-tune to what “good music” really is.
As amateur guitarists (and I take lots of liberties with that description) and
expert musicologists (in our own minds), we are there for more than a couple of
hit songs. We want to bask in the glow of expert musicianship, marvel at the
masterful mix of melody and legendary storytelling, and be inspired by the
sheer coolness of the event.
We are not disappointed.
In fact, the show is better than we had imagined…and we had
imagined, as we often do, the extraordinary.
As the lights come up, highlighting a small area center
stage, we see two chairs, a couple of guitar stands, two microphones,
and…that’s all. Lyle Lovett and Vince Gill unassumingly stroll out to an
anticipatory and appreciative applause and take their respective seats. I soon
realize that this will be the show. No bands, no set up and tear down, no
breaks…and no chance of disappointment. The legendary performers take turns
sharing songs and swapping stories. We laugh at the tales of dysfunctional
families, noting the similarities to our own, chuckle at the accounts of
mishaps and poor decisions, wonder at the reflections of the many
collaborations with those of otherworldly talent, smile at the revelations of
earnest feelings, and truly enjoy the glimpses into the lives and minds of
these two gentlemen. A moment of note occurs when Lovett makes a connection to
our soldiers and I find an easy connection to Chris Kyle’s story from earlier
in the day as the audience responds with a thunderous applause. The two
singer-songwriters are long-time amazing performers, but they convince us
through their modest natures that they are not performing at all. Rather, they
have allowed us a peek into the back room of an old filling station where two
guys, each with his guitar and a cold beer, share pieces of their lives through
anecdotes and lyrics, laughing and affirming that they are doing what God had
placed them on this planet to do. Life is indeed good at this moment.
Sadly, the experience all-too-quickly comes to an end. I
want to run on stage and grab Lyle and shake his hand and give Vince a big
brotherly hug, and let them know that what they just did was truly wonderful,
that I want to go along with them, wherever they are going, and keep the
experience alive forever. Theirs is such a different life, it seems. I want to
be a part of it for a longer stretch than two and a half hours. But, alas,
common sense qualms this fantasy that security would have prevented anyway. So,
I file out with the old greys, wondering if they have a decent appreciation of
what was just given to them. I know my brothers feel as I do and their
immediate comments confirm it.
Once again, our commentary ensues - a reflection of the day,
filled with awe, praise, laughter, and gratitude - and continues until we
finally depart from one another, going our own separate ways.
I realize that while my initial deduction that the lives of
the two superstar musicians and the military hero are different from my own may
indeed be true, we still all share the commonalities of our own existences. We
reflect on our own legends and situations and they may only differ in names and
locales. The underlying feelings and the resulting lessons aren’t all that
diverse. That allows me to be able to connect to Chris Kyle, Lyle Lovett, and
Vince Gill, as well as my brothers and dad. And on a legendary day, where I
watched a legendary story and witnessed legendary performers, I discover that
the legends we experience and the legends that we create help make life
enjoyable and meaningful and livable.
I have a feeling that my wife knew that her Christmas
present to me was more than just a ticket to a show. A legendary gift of a
legendary journey from a legendary love.
