We don’t take many vacations anymore. Most of our holiday time is spent at relatives’ homes, so when we find time and opportunity for a trip that involves seeing something new, it’s an event. So it was Serendipity Sunday this afternoon when the Big Guy stumbled on the ultimate humdinger (or hum-hummer in this case) of a family summer vacation.
I can’t remember a day when at least a bar of a Beatles tune hasn’t sprung from the Big Guy’s lips or emanated from his Martin guitar. An excellent musician, the Big Guy has most of the Beatles songbook programmed into his fingers, and our kids have grown up listening to their Dad serenade them at all times of the day with Blackbird or Ticket to Ride. It’s no accident, obviously, that twelve-year-old Thing1 and six-year-old Thing2 are avid fans, and, aware of the possible alternative musical fixations, neither the Big Guy nor I have discouraged their affection for a band that disbanded over 40 years ago.
Living in Vermont, the only other entity that could claim that kind of loyalty from our boys is the Boston Red Sox. There are a few Yankee fans around here, but having parents who met, married and lived in Boston, Thing1 and Thing2 were Red Sox fans before they knew what baseball was. The irony of their afflictions (being a Red Sox fan is an affliction, condemning one to a lifetime of heartbreak) is that, until two years ago, neither of them had been to Fenway. Ticket prices are not what they were when the Big Guy and I were living six blocks from the Green Monster, so even Thing1 has only seen it as part of a school tour.
Enter Sunday afternoon. The Big Guy was sitting on the couch, quietly browsing the web for car parts for an ongoing project when a soft ‘Huh’ escaped his lips. I waited a few minutes before asking ‘What?’
“The Stones are coming to Boston this summer,” he said.
“Really?” I was cautious. We’d seen the Rolling Stones years ago at the Boston Garden, and we both want to see them again before they throw in the towel. The kids love the Stones too, so I asked, “How much are the tickets?” I held my breath. They hadn’t been cheap 15 years earlier. The Big Guy scanned through the ticketing site.
“They’re not on sale yet,” he said.
“I heard cheap seats were selling for $600 someplace in Cali-” I started, but the Big Guy cut me off.
“And Paul McCartney’s playing at Fenway!” He exclaimed. “And the tickets are cheaper.”
It wasn’t much of a toss-up. In the end, we quickly decided our Fabulous Four would have its first Fenway experience with one of the original Fab Four. It’ll be old and it’ll be something completely different.