First Time Moved
We took my son to a restaurant in Tucson the other night. As the food was being prepared, a jazz band loaded up their gear in front of us and began to play.
My son, who has always had a love of music, became completely entranced with the performance. He sat on the cough in the restaurant and watched in awe. The band members of course were more than happy to make funny faces and smiles at him from the stage. Then, he started to dance to the music. The drummer even let him come up on stage and hit the drums with his sticks.
While the whole thing was super adorable, I realized that this occasion marked the first time that my son was moved by jazz. Not only had he stumbled upon a new genre, but he also got to experience live music for the first time (other than a gig of mine he attended close to when he was born).
I felt a little envious. How amazing it must be to be moved by jazz for the first time. To hear the fluidity of the notes and the jangly and unpredictable rhythms.
And how many other firsts will he get to experience in his life? His first rollercoaster, first rock concert, first sleepover, first buffet…
And how many of these have become routine for me? Again, I learn from him: if we’re moved the first time, we can be always be moved.
When we got back from the club, right before bed, Dezi noticed the full moon. We stood outside, his mother, him and I, just watching and letting the space rock do its incredible work.
Doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen the moon. Every time is like the first.