This weekend, I get to sing with my boys.
Before I had my boyos, I had my boys. I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, and auditioned for and was welcomed into a cover band that played out and about here in Arlington, DC and more. I spent 5 wonderful years with these guys. I mean, they drove me CRAZY sometimes, and it's 100% certain that there were times that they probably wanted to throttle me. But the best years of my life as an individual were spent with them, traveling, performing, and joking. I can remember times I laughed so hard I cried, and then I was so emotionally spent I couldn't stop crying (that was in Kosovo...) They called me on my stupid, selfish bullshit. The shows kept me up well past a normal bedtime, preparing me for life as a new parent (and then, essentially, just as a parent).
I love them. I hope they know it. I'm not good about saying it to them because, (a) at the time, it would have been super weird and awkward and (b) I basically was a guy when with them, and guys just don't blurt out "I love you!" all the time, from what I'm told.
Anyway, by sheer dumb luck (and smelling nice), I got to be with them in the late 90s/early 00s. And when I called and emailed earlier this year and said, hey, would you come play our annual pig roast, they all said yes.
My boyos didn't really get it. To them, I already play with "the band" because half of the current band is half of the line-up of the OLD band. I tried to explain why I was so excited. Total blank eyes. But, being children, I finally found the link.
I said, you know when I make you your favorite meal? And it tastes really good, and it makes you feel warm inside and good inside?
"Yeah." Their eyes brightened in recognition of that feeling.
Well, that's what playing with my boys is like for me. I'm so grateful they are coming to play with me. It's the comfort food of my soul. And my soul is in desperate need of nourishing.