Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Dates with my Mom

My earliest happiest memories usually involved the performing arts.

On certain nights, Mom would take me to Poe Park, and we would buy ice cream cones - mine usually vanilla - from the Good Humor® truck.
We would sit on a wooden bench and watch the band play hit tunes in the white gazebo.
The weather would be crisp.
The band wore full uniforms: carmine red with braided gold trim. The bandmaster, with his tall hat, would wave his conductor baton as a wizard, stiff and starched like a wooden soldier or Christmas nutcracker.
Show tunes, marches, all kinds of syncopated beats would pulse through me, and make me remember music that I was too young to understand. The instruments were shiny, glossy, and glinted when swayed around by its musician.

I miss the white gazebo, the vanilla ice cream I can't eat now because of sensitive teeth. I miss seeing that band in carmine red and their shiny instruments. I can't remember the music played. Maybe Souza.
I miss being seven. On Sept. 18 will be my 37th birthday. And I'm sad I can't remember what the bench felt like in Poe Park in New York City in 1982-83.

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