November 4, 2006 - Saturday
One of the times that made me feel the most special as a boy was when my father snuck me into a local jazz concert, "Jazz Night." It was just a benefit concert up in the hall of the local church, but it featured some very prominent musicians including a local trumpeter who had once played (if I'm remembering this right) with Tommy Dorsey (and whom I knew from playing trombone on his float in the local 4th of July parade - I wasn't any good at that age, of course, but it was a local, small town 4th of July thing and this guy made me feel pretty special about it) and the music was quite good. The fund-raiser included a dinner downstairs in the church basement before the concert and then kegs of beer upstairs with the jazz and it was not meant to be an event for children. Indeed, I did not go to the dinner or drink any of the beer. But after the concert part had started my father left the hall and came home to get me. I was already in bed, perhaps asleep, when dad came in and told me to get out of bed and get dressed. He wanted to bring me back to this concert up at the church with he and my mother. My memory of the specifics is sketchy, of course, but I remember a rush of adrenaline at the thought of getting up after bedtime and going out in the night. I also have this recollection of dad lifting me up outside the church and handing me through an open window to my mother inside the church hall. It's possible that we just went in through the front door and that I ended up sitting on the window sill - the hall was packed - but I have a clear sense that dad had at least in some way snuck me into this concert and that I was definitely the only kid that got to be in there. This event happened for a couple more years in a row, at least, and each year dad came home to get me after the dinner part was over. I don't think we tried so hard to sneak in those subsequent years, but I do think I was always the only kid there. Pretty cool...all of it was: the getting up in the middle of the night, sneaking into this great concert, and dad singling me out to do something.

Last year for my birthday, the boys' mother and I went to a jazz concert at Indian Hill featuring Fred Buda and friends (including Herb Pomeroy, who had played at our wedding reception). Fred Buda is the long-standing, and very animated, set drummer with the Boston Pops and is extremely good and it was a heck of a concert. And while it was a nice night out sans enfant for the two of us, I regretted right away that we didn't bring Harry, our own budding drummer. So, when the signs went up a few weeks ago for a return engagement tonight, I got tickets for Harry and me.

I'd been trying to talk it up with Harry for the last couple of weeks and I think he was excited about it, although it's hard to know. But, alas, it didn't work out quite how I'd hoped. Harry's been able to make it through other concerts that started late (including the Indian Hill April Fools Pops and the Boston Pops) and I didn't think this would be a problem. But we'd been running around outside in the cool fall air and in the nearby corn maze this afternoon and that probably did Harry in. He fell asleep toward the end of the first half and when I asked him at intermission he said he was ready to come home. I had even walked him around a bit and taken him to the bathroom trying to wake him up a bit.

I was probably 9-10 at the time of that first jazz concert with my father and Harry is certain a lot younger than that now. But I hope his memories of this concert are good ones and that he'll want to do this again.

I also bought tickets for Jeremy and me to go to a cello recital at the very adult Kalliroscope next weekend. We will definitely need to get Jeremy to have a nap that afternoon.


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