Sharing a Moment

Tonight, after dinner, J.P. and I decided to drive over to "Belmont School" and Bongo Java.  It was our first time to go to Belmont U. since last Thursday, when I was forced to hand down the weekend ban from Belmont and Bongo Java as punishment for J.P. "not listening."

Now, I'm not a complete hardass, obviously, but lately, we've been trying to teach J.P. that when we're out and about and we say "stop," he can't just keep walking or worse, take off running.  That's what happened Thursday evening, at Belmont, as we were leaving.  I told J.P. to "stop," and he immediately started running toward the parking lot.  In the city, where we live, that's dangerous.

As we got into my truck, I asked J.P. what music he wanted to hear.  "Avett Brothers," he said.  "Sad song" (also known as "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa").  I found the cd, then cued up the song as we drove up Acklen Avenue.  I watched him in the rear view mirror as the first notes of the song began playing.  He smiled just a little, then kind of nodded his head to the music.

"Left on Laura, Left on Lisa" is special to me for a couple of reasons.  First, it's my favorite Avett Brothers song and, really, the song of theirs that really grabbed me when I began listening to them.  Second, J.P. liked that song from the first time I played it for him, in my truck.  He used to ask me to play it over and over again, as we drove around town.  I hadn't played it for him in quite a while, so it brought back memories, pretty poignantly, as we listened to it this evening.

For me, that's the power of music.  It's also what makes music so unique.  I can hear a certain song - one I haven't heard for weeks, months or even years - and instantly I'm transported back to a place in time when I first heard it or when I listened to it a lot.  The memories are palpable, tangible even.  That's the way I felt tonight.

As we crested the hill on Caldwell, the sun was hanging below a cloud in on the western skyline partially obscured.  It was raining, too.  A beautiful evening.  I pulled over to the side of the road for a minute, watching the sun setting and looking at J.P., as we listened to "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa."  It was one of those moments I wanted to frame and file away.