Lam came through on his promise to Elle. One day before her birthday, we met him and Ursula at Ameris Bank Amphitheatre in Alpharetta. As Matty, Elle, and I entered the gate, there they were, drinks in hand.
“Souvenirs! Grab what you want, I got you.” Elle seemed a little disoriented by the exclamation from Lam. But she’s not one to turn down a gift and left the merch booth with a T-shirt. We made our way to the seats—near the back of the venue, but still safely under the awning in case any weather rolled in.
Lam and Ursula took their seats first in the empty row. His first shot at seeing Counting Crows with me was canceled due to a sudden illness in the band. I hoped tonight would finally make up for it.
Elle sat down next, leaving a seat between her and Ursula. This would be her second time seeing Adam Duritz and the band. The first time was at the Biltmore Estate ten years earlier. She witnessed many of my tone-deaf Duritz imitations while riding in the Jeep to and from school and anywhere else we ventured. At that first concert, they performed the song she was named after—maybe tonight she could hear it live again.
Matty found her place in the empty seat next to Ursula. I’ve dragged her to at least four of their concerts, the first being the 25th anniversary show of August and Everything After in Charlotte, NC. The band Live opened that night, and I was in for a treat—they’re one of Matty’s favorites. To witness her love for their music manifest as they played—magical.
I took my seat beside Elle. Counting Crows are my favorite band and have been since early 1997, when I bought my first car and could finally listen to something other than Country. I fell in love with the Recovering the Satellites album and then worked my way back to August and Everything After. While mostly full of melancholy, their tunes have always lifted me and reminded me that “Maybe this year will be better than the last.”
There’s always a moment when the lights are down, I’m on my feet singing and swaying—where the world just stops. In that moment, everything feels joyous, calm, and right.
“Sha-la-la-la-la-la, la.”
The unmistakable beginning to Mr. Jones. I was already on my feet. As I glanced down the aisle, there were Elle, Matty, Ursula, and Lam standing with me.
I was singing with my best friend, Lam, who over the years had introduced a bit of good chaos to my life.
I was singing with my daughter, Elle, to whom I had passed down a love of music, laughter, and travel.
I was singing with my wife, Matty, with who I have had and will continue to have many last firsts.
I was singing with the little Philip who yearned to be a part of the crowd and the noise of a great concert. Somewhere during the singing, I paused and whispered to him so only he and I could hear, “You’re not going to believe this, but waiting at home is a four-leaf-clover-colored Daughtry guitar pick.”
As I lowered my voice ever so slightly more, “It’s not about the guitar picks, the drumsticks, or even the artists on the stage, it’s about this…. this right here.”
