When I was in grade school, I had to take swimming lessons at the YMCA. I hated it. The building was old and ramshackle and even at that young age I could tell that it was full of hoosiers. I was scared to death of drowning. (It must have been genetic because apparently my mom almost literally drowned during a swimming lesson at the same Y when the instructor told them to enter the water, and my mom - being the trusting Catholic girl raised on a farm - promptly jumped into the deep end. She sunk like a rock and had to be fished out with that long hooky thing. She was fine, but she never did learn to swim.) Well, I guess she wanted a better, more aquatic life for me, so she insisted on the lessons.
Those lessons ruined many after-school football games on my friend's zoysia; they ruined numerous Saturday morning cartoon fests; they got me sick in the winter when I went home with wet hair on a frigid day; and they made me hate that building to this day!
But there was one positive about all those lessons (ok, ok, besides the fact that I actually learned how to swim passingly.) I carry a memory and a love from the drives to the lessons. I can picture a sunny Saturday morning, begrudgingly sitting in the front seat of the 74 Chevy Nova, the silver bomb. The A.M. radio was tuned to 63 KXOK, home of the hits. And then I heard it. "One of these nights. One of these crazy, ol' nights." Oh my. I loved that song. To this day I love that song. Something clicked. Something emotional, primal, musical, whatever. But I remember, all those years ago, hearing that song for the first time and loving every moment of it.
That was the first time I ever heard the Eagles. Well, I found out they were all over those A.M. airwaves, and I searched them out. As I got into late grade school and high school, I listened endlessly for them. I loved the Eagles. The guitars, the bass, the solos, the musicianship, and the tight vocals. I loved everything I heard from them.
And I still do.
But, though I went to a preponderance of concerts during my youth, I never saw them live. What a shame. As I hit adulthood and, later, middle age, I began to regret my youthful lack of initiative in the pursuit of an Eagles concert. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I miss my chance? I always loved them. They came to town at least a few times in my concert-going prime. What was I (or more likely wasn't I) thinking?
Like my opportunity to purchase a pet rock, waffle-stomper boots, and a wallet with a chain, I blew it.
In my middle age, I resigned myself to be content with the "Eagles Farewell Tour" on DVD, which with each viewing made me only regret not seeing them all the more. When i found out that the cheap seats went for a hundred and fifty bucks on that tour, I knew I failed my quest. With private school tuition, car insurance, and ever-increasing anti-aging cream budget I was living within, Eagles' tickets were a dream tucked away in the box under the bed that I mostly forgot was there.
So when I saw the advertisement for their summer tour on the bus stop frame, I didn't give it a second thought. Well, actually I did. My first thought was "too expensive," and my second thought was, "why was I such a dumbass when I was younger and didn't have such expensive kids and I still had long hair and could fit in my cool jeans and could have gone and seen them when they were still drinking and had long hair and were really cool?"
At any rate, I never gave it another thought. Then, today at work, almost at the end of the day, I happened to strike up a conversation with a coworker. She's extremely nice, quiet, polite, friendly, and young - like about 30 - and has a little baby that's several months old and cute as a button (even from a crotchety middle aged man's point of view.)
I was making pleasant small talk.
"How's it going?"
"Great."
"How's your cute little one?" As a guy, I'm notoriously horrible at remembering what sex women's baby's are, much less their names or ages. I've given up trying to even pretend I remember those things.
"Well, tonight's her first sleepover with grandma away from me."
"Oh, wow, you must have plans, huh?" At this point, I'm figuring I need to end this conversation, because I'm beginning to lose interest, mostly due to hunger or thirst or both.
"Well, I'm actually going to the Eagles and Dixie Chicks concert tonight."
I must have drooled. I composed myself quickly.
"Really? Wow. I love the Eagles! You're so lucky!" I flashed back to swimming lessons, AM radio, and pocket combs.
"Oh, yeah? Well, I actually have two extra tickets, I think. Do you want them."
And just like that, there it was. A lifetime fulfilled.
"Nah. I don't think so. We've got plans tonight."
"Oh, ok then."
"Thanks anyway." I walked out of her office to the drinking fountain.
I really do believe in God, and I believe He affects our lives directly from time to time. So I think God inserted himself between my ears at that moment and said something to the effect of: "WHAT? Wake up, you freaking idiot! Do I have to strike you down with a lightning bolt? Jesus H. Christ you MORON, I'm practically handing them to you myself!"
Far be it from me to not heed God's calling. I turned on my heels and skulked back into her office.
"Hey, you know, I think we could probably cancel our plans for the night. Could I still have the tickets?"
"Sure!"
And just like that, destiny was fulfilled.
Not only was I going to see the Eagles, but I was going to see the Eagles SCOTT FREE! So Keri and I rushed home. She panicked over her hair and her outfit, as usual; and we paid too much for parking, but who cared? Our seats were ok, way off to the right side of the stage, but who cared? And after all the follicular fussing, Keri pulled her hair into a ponytail once we got to our seats.
The Dixie Chicks were outstanding!
And when the lights went down, and all the smokers ran like hell to get back to their seats on time, and the boys harmonized on "Seven Bridges Road" under a full moon and the soft glow of downtown luminescence, all those swimming lessons were suddenly worth it. Because if it weren't for those stupid lessons, and that one Saturday morning, the Eagles might not have meant so much to me; and I might not have been enjoying the fulfillment of a lifelong dream; and I might not have been yelling the lyrics to "One of These Nights" with Keri; and we might not have held our cell phones up for an encore because we didn't have lighters; and we might not have even cared about being there and went home and walked around the trail instead, as we usually do.
But I took those swimming lessons, dammit. And the Eagles were better than I could have hoped. I would have loved another hour of them on stage, stars shining above, harmonies lilting through the air. But I guess, like me, they've grown older. They probably had to rush backstage and take their prostate medication and blood thinners. But if it keeps them alive for one more round of "Desperado", then keep skipping that second encore boys. I'd like to see you one more time - even if it is on a new concert DVD.
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