A Concert in the Park

Uncle Reginald hadn’t made up his mind what to do. His nephew wanted him to go to some concert with him. It was in his favourite park, but who wanted to sit outside on the wet grass and listen to some local rock band, or some kind of music that just didn’t fit with his beautiful park. He’d rather just sit at home in his big chair with a good book and his pipe. He’d just gotten some fresh new tobacco and relished a quiet evening with smoke curling softly away. His late wife had always fussed about ‘that stinky old pipe’. He missed her dearly, even those four words that told him she loved him. She really was worried about his health - ‘You know that smoking of any kind is bad for your lungs, Reggie.’ 

~~~~~

“Well, Uncle Reg. Have you made up your mind? You’ll love the music and the weather is so perfect for this concert. You can smoke your pipe, even though Aunt Gladys always hated it.” Sam was patient with this man that had been his father after his own parents had met such a tragic end. Sam had been only two years old when the car accident happened. He had been staying with his Uncle and Aunt while his parents took a weekend trip to the mountains. He was adopted by Reginald and Gladys without question. They continued to tell Sam about his parents. “You need to know them as much as possible, Samuel - they loved you so very much.”

“Didn’t you and Dad go to concerts, Uncle Reg? I thought you told me about something like that. Or maybe it was Mom and Aunt Gladys.”

“Yes, the four of us did. We were young and it was our music - not this music that you listen to all the time.” Sam hid a smile. “Well, humour me. I think you'll like this music. It really is ‘my’ music too, you know.”

~~~~

The musical group was local and looked nothing like the rock bands Reginald had seen when he was flipping through channels on the television. There didn't seem to be enough paraphernalia all over the stage. The stage was backed by tall trees, there was a lot of seating - only benches really. Relieved, he wouldn't get his clothes all wet from the damp grass. And the music took him back to the music he and his brother had loved in the ’60’s’. It wasn’t Tony Bennett, Joni Mitchell or Ann Murray - but it was all their songs rendered in a way that matched the sky, the trees and the late afternoon sun. He even forgot to smoke his pipe. 

~~~~~

“These fragments I have shored against my ruins.”

~ T.S.Eliot,  The Waste Land and Other Poems