By: Lisa Regula Meyer
It’s getting later into the summer, and we’ve hit a cool spell in Northeast Ohio. By cool, I mean autumn-like night time temps of 50-60 degrees Fahrenheit. As usual, the season’s gone too fast and I’ve not gotten enough work done, nor had enough recreation time with my son and husband. It seems that four classes in a semester is my maximum right now. Forgive me if being busy work hard and playing harder means that I don’t write much or always on time before the return of some normalcy with back to school in a few weeks.
Music is something that’s always been a panacea for me, and Kenny shares some of that tendency. All three of us are heading to a concert out of town later this week, and really looking forward to it. My only concern- we’re going out of town, and will be meeting up with a high school friend of mine and his partner. Most of the times I’ve gone out of town to visit gay friends, I have returned home pregnant; I need to remind my body that that’s not the plan this time (ah, surrogacy jokes…). One bit of semi-regular fun on evenings that Dwight has to work has been Cleveland Orchestra concerts on the lawn of Blossom Music Center for good mama-son time. In particular, last weekend was a selection of highlights from Porgy and Bess alongside some spirituals. It was a special time for Kenny and I, as the song “Summertime” is something that has long been a connection for us. I’ve loved it since I was little, and it was a go-to song when he was fussy as a baby. That image of infinite protection leading to vast freedom, the idea of a parent as protecting and preparing someone who’s bound to leave of their own volition, that’s the image of parenting that has always struck most true for me.
As we snuggled on a blanket under the night sky, listening to the music, and his face turning to tell me that the singer was “doing it wrong- not like you sing it,” I realized that despite all my misgivings, maybe I was doing it right after all. And that moment was sweeter than even the freshest blueberries this year.
Tonight is another concert night, with Broadway hits and a picnic dinner, and I’m very much looking forward to being reminded of how we each dance to our own beat, when Kenny’s flailing and spinning in movements that I have never been able to replicate.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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