Miracles Out of Nowhere
I try to move forward in our lives, that’s the general theme and consensus.
But this last weekend I just couldn’t. I really just . . . couldn’t.
When I was 12 years old (maybe 13?) I remember my older brother and I were obsessed with asking my Dad if we could go see the band Kansas live. They were coming off several hit albums, their biggest song Carry On Wayward Son from an album called Leftoverture.
We went, by the way. Civic Auditorium, Omaha, Nebraska. It was my first concert.
So when Kansas, with 4 of the original 6 members still in the band was coming to our town I decided I should relive my 12-year-old self’s experience. Some was to see if they were as good as I remembered . . . some was just nostalgia. I still love those old records. One of my favorite songs was the title of the post here: Miracles Out of Nowhere. Not the conceit of the song, it was the slow buildup and the massive close of the song.
It’s funny, though. I took my oldest daughter to the show. She likes Kansas, sure, it played a lot in my house growing up. She watches the show Supernatural on the CW network and they use them a lot, too, so she wasn’t unfamiliar.
But it was a chance to take her to a nice dinner and see the show. I can do a lot of things alone: the movies, museum, even dinner or lunch are fine. Concerts, for some reason, seem like I should have someone there. So she went along. I could tell that there were times she was less than enthused. But she went along with me anyway. She could have spent the evening with friends but told them this was her chance to have a Daddy/Daughter day. I was happy she wanted to come along.
But it was less about the concert. She knew that, too. This was a look backward that went far beyond the years of my marriage to when I was a kid. This was, to put it bluntly, a memory from my years growing up and it made me smile.
Throughout the show my daughter was looking over at me and smiling as she saw me with just 12-year-old Dave’s expressions.
Rich Williams, the guy with the eyepatch there, played guitar lines that made my head spin. I said I couldn’t fathom how he did it, couldn’t play those if I tried, all that and my daughter, right before they played Miracles said I don’t give myself enough credit.
We didn’t eat much for dinner and we found ourselves eating Taco Bell at home with my middle daughter, who wanted a rundown of the evening.
I smiled, I laughed, and I enjoyed some prog-rock, which I know isn’t everyone’s favorite.
But on the way to bed I heard my daughter humming Carry On Wayward Son and I had to smile. It’s revisiting an old happy memory for me . . . and maybe creating some new ones for my daughter.