Hey everyone [Dad], it’s that time again!
It’s Wacky Wednesday Rem[wem?]inisce Day!
A.k.a. Dad, you’ve got your 11th round of chemo today and that totally sucks but you sir, do not– so here’s a bit of awesomeness to take your mind off of the unfortunately quiet rave taking place in your hospital room. (You’ve got the drugs; I could absolutely Spotify you some house music. If you’d like. Just lemme know.)
(And in case you wanna catch up: Week 10, Week 9, Week 8, Week 7, Week 6, Week 5, Week 4, Week 3, Week 2.5, Week 2, and Le Intro. A hint at the crazy-awesome that is my father.)
The year was 1995. I had just turned 15.
I had recently been- for lack of a more delicate term- dumped by my first “real” boyfriend. And, well, I wasn’t taking it so hot. It was the middle of the summer, and all of my friends (those whom I hadn’t abandoned for the appeal of an upperclassman boyfriend) were busy doing terrific things in far-flung locales like New Hampshire.
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| Yes, I had a mullet. And a 2XL sweatshirt. WHO WOULD BREAK UP WITH THIS? |
My Dad, however, knew exactly what would cheer me up (and perhaps even blow my mind). He took me to a Blues Festival nearby, well aware that I was had a near fangirl obsession with Etta James, B.B. King, and the like. Both were there. We also saw Jimmie Vaughn (bro of the legendary Stevie Ray), J. Geils, and Elvin Bishop. (My heartache was flung aside as I realized that my Dad had presented me with the best summer of my life.)
He had gotten us seventh row seats. And- miracle upon miracles- people in the first six rows all meandered off before Etta James’ set. (Fools!) So then suddenly there she was, singing- DIRECTLY TO ME AND MY DAD. I nearly lost my mind with joy as I sang along with her. Then I noticed that my Dad was laughing. And I noticed the look that Etta was giving me. (My Dad later called it the “why is this little white girl singing every single word?” but I called it The Ultimate In Awesome, Amen.)
The day was beyond fantastic, but what really sticks in my mind is the fact that it was an entire afternoon with just me n’ my Dad. Listen, I’m the second of four girls. My folks owned a ’round the clock breakfast and deli establishment. One on one time with either of my parents was always at a premium- but that day, my Dad made me feel special. Cool. Non-mullety.
Like I was completely worthy of a day like that. Like I was his first choice and really, should be anyone’s.
Even with my special blend of je ne sais quoi.
So Dad, get better. There are so many other concerts and festivals and musical extravaganzas we need to experience.
(Next time I’ll buy the 35 buck souvenir hat.)
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