Monday, December 13, 2010

Why Did I Cry at TESH you ask?

I'm following the first blog with this real quick-like because an awesome mommy friend from WISH read the first blog and wrote, "You never really said why you cried at the Tesh concert." Fair enough. Probably because I was still trying to maintain some semblance of too-coolness. But you know what? It's over, Jim. (That's a Star Trek thing, right? I thought quoting Star Trek would show how serious I am about embracing my lack of cool. - Said with love, my Trekkie friends). Anyway, I think I started crying when he played a really New Agey song from Red Rocks and I realized it was going to go on for 2 hours... See, there I go again, falling back on my old cynical ways. But it's funny, and I do love the funny. You can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can't take the Jersey...

Seriously though, John Tesh talked about his wife, Concetta Siellica (I'm sure I'm butchering that spelling), better known to the commoner as Connie Selica, and how inspirational she has been to him. He talked about his 10 years on Entertainment Tonight, rattling off celebrity birthdays and how empty it became. How she told him that the only thing that made him truly ecstatic was playing the piano, and maybe he could trick a whole bunch of people into coming to see him do that. So he did. I honestly had mixed feelings about the music, though I LOVE Christmas carols (yet another piece of evidence to be entered against any future claim I try to make of coolness), and he is traveling for the first time with a horn section which could seriously kick the collective ass of many serious jazz players I know. I scanned the stage carefully and I'm almost a hundred percent sure I never slept with any of them back in the day, though I think one of the trumpet players might have gone to Manhattan School of Music with a drummer I had a wild affair with back in the mid-90s. I digress. I found it so moving that he is doing what he loves and affecting people's lives. Maybe it isn't the concert I would've chosen in my top...a lot, but I'm really glad I was there.

Am I avoiding writing about the crying? Perhaps. Here goes. John began to sing a song about how the holidays at home were meaningful because of his family, holding his baby, being close to his wife, connecting with old friends, and I just went there, got all mushy-gushy grateful for my husband, my amazing daughter, my incredible friends, old and new, the parents and teachers and administration and our charter school, and most of all, my parents, who do so much for our family and work so hard to stay in the positive (to my annoyance as a teenager and my deep gratitude now). I'm tearing up as I write this. My dad turned 76 on Friday, and he told me that his ability to concentrate has really deteriorated lately and it makes it hard for him to write and compose and do his Calligraphy. Now I find it important to point out to my 76-year-old father, who lived through several wars, taught English for 40+ years, and has written several self-published novels as well as composed lovely, orchestrated classical music, that I had to Google "fancy writing is called" in order to find the word "Calligraphy", which had completely deserted my 39-year-old brain. I think he's over-worried. Or I'm in a lot of trouble.

My dad told me in his worried voice that his time spent volunteering as "Poppi Librarian" at the new charter school, and mom's time assisting with art classes and serving lunches, reading to the children, and helping out the first grade teacher, is keeping them happy, keeping them alive. We all need a purpose and human contact and to feel needed. I get pretty emotional thinking about these people who raised my brother and me and obviously imbued in me a sense of personal and social responsibility that dwarfs my punk-rock, anarchic facade. I feel so grateful that I now have this daughter and this incredible school to offer to them, to give them hope and purpose and joy.

Basically, I cried during John Tesh because he truly does good in this world, and I aspire to do the same. I get there a different way. My inspirations may look different, come from different books, speak in different tongues. But I was moved. So there. Dammit.


1 comment:

  1. That post made me laugh. But not tear up. Not at all.

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