My husband and I went out to dinner prior to attending a concert in Troy recently. The band we were going to see was a very popular Rock band beginning in the late 60’s through the mid 70’s. They had countless hits, filled concert halls and stadiums, and enjoyed success that many can only dream of. I have been looking forward to this for months!
We decided to dine at a new restaurant to celebrate the occasion. We rarely dine out- and by rarely, I mean the literal definition. Once a year at best. We arrived early to eat so that we might take our time and enjoy the dining experience. I always enjoy taking in the surroundings and watching people interact. There weren’t many others in the restaurant, so my husband was the recipient of my undivided attention and the subject of conversation focused on his love of baseball and how the Cincinnati Reds were playing, his frustration with them, and when the next game would be.
My “undivided attention” lasted about 5 minutes as my eyes began to wander around the restaurant and I started to notice people filter in at a steady stream. It didn’t take me long to notice that there was a consistency in age of the steady stream. Everyone entering looked as if they were in their late 70’s or early 80’s. Our waitress noticed too. She came up to our table and said, “Do you guys know you’re probably the youngest people in here right now?” I laughed because we are in our early 60’s– so being the youngest in a room is as rare a thing as dining out. I told our waitress that the most logical conclusion was that everyone here was probably going to the same concert that we planned to attend. The band was from their generation, so naturally they would be the ones to go see them.
We finished dinner and headed to the venue. Finding our seats was easy and we sat down early as it was terribly hot outdoors. Our seats were above the floor level, so I spent the time doing what I love to do–people watching. The room was full of elderly people, but I did see a few teenagers and people in their early 20’s. The older folks were smiling, happy and full of anticipation of the concert. I saw them shaking hands with friends they hadn’t seen in years. They were laughing and saying things like “Hey! You old hippy, you!” Heads of grey, or none at all filled the arena. Some people had canes and others had walkers. They were as happy as those who walked unassisted. Music played on the speakers to pass the time. I saw dancing and hugging. There wasn’t an unhappy face in the entire hall. These “old hippies” had come to relive their youth and spirit of yesterday. They saw one another as they saw themselves 50 years ago.
I saw one woman in a bright pink T-shirt and pants with white fringe. Her hair was short and white, and I could tell she probably hadn’t had a proper bra fitting in many years. I imagined that she probably put a great deal of thought into what to wear that evening. It was important to her. She was probably someone’s great-grandmother, and she strolled slowly to her seat with a hunch and great difficulty. She sat down with great caution – and then the band came on stage and played. I found myself watching her, and not them. The music seemed to lift her up, and she stood and danced the best dance her venerable body could give, waved her arms and sang. She was a teenager again and she knew it. A tear rolled down my cheek. I knew it too.
I smiled and looked at my husband and said, “Remember the movie Field of Dreams?” (Of course he does- it’s baseball movie) “Yes, I do” he replied, “I see it too.”
