Making memories

Sometimes, making memories worth having takes a bit of effort.

A month or two back, I found out that Tommy James and the Shondells (of 1960s fame) was coming to town.

Well, they were coming to Effingham, IL, anyway – a two-hour drive east of my home in St. Louis.

My dad and brother and I talked about going. Some of our first music memories (music has always been important to our family) included listening to Tommy James’ “Crimson and Clover” over and over (pun intended, if you know the song) as kids. 

My dad had a few other important things scheduled for the day of the show and was reluctant to go, but my brother and I were set on it. I bought three tickets and told my dad we’d love for him to join if he changed his mind.

In the end, he canceled his afternoon plans and gave up tickets to see his first MLS game that evening. 

Instead, he drove two hours with my brother and me to see a 75-year-old man perform hits that were written some 50 years ago. We bought some $20 signed lyric sheets and raised our plastic Jack Daniels cups to a guy’s night out. We watched the show amidst a sea of 70-somethings that made my healthy, 65-year-old dad look shockingly young – oxygen tanks, wheelchairs, and canes were par for the course at this show. After it all, we drove home in a torrential downpour and got home past our bedtimes.

But let me tell you… Tommy James delivered. It was one of the best concerts I’ve been to, this old rocker playing to a crowd of maybe 900 people in little Effingham, IL.

I’ve seen AC/DC, Guns N’ Roses, the Stones, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, Elton John, Billy Joel, Tom Petty, Bob Seger, and Bruce Springsteen live. Like I said, we are a music family.

But Tommy James was special. He was the first record my dad bought at age 12. He was one of the first musicians I knew by name. 

Buying tickets, canceling plans, making the long drive, and navigating back home through bad weather made Tommy James one of the more inconvenient concerts I’ve ever attended, to be sure.

But seeing him play songs I grew up on, sitting there with my dad, was worth every bit of it.

Making memories worth having can indeed take a bit of effort, but it is usually an effort worth making.