On the Sunny Side of the Street (the Ella Fitzgerald and Count Basie version)

What's funny about the place where my son's gig was last night is that it's literally across the street from where I volunteer for the workforce development program. When I volunteer, I am professional -- nicely dressed with my hair pulled back. At the divey bar, I was not. Why would I be? My hair was wild and flowing, and I had on my NRBQ t-shirt, jeans, flip-flops, and an armful of silver bangles, some of which I bought on my recent trip to Mexico. As I sat outside the bar talking to the lead singer of the popular eighties band (we were mostly commiserating about getting older but sharing gratitude for not yet being decrepit),  saw the program coordinator walk out of the "nice" building and cross the street in our direction. In general, I don't compartmentalize my life, but I really didn't want to run into her at just that moment, so I turned around hoping she wouldn't see me.

Before I went out, I had put on the t-shirt with my son's band name and logo on it, but as I was bored during my scoring shift (we had no essays and just had to keep checking back), I listened to a bunch of NRBQ songs and changed to that shirt. I ended up being really glad I had; my ex-husband was there and he was wearing the band shirt. While my son's girlfriend said it would have been adorable if we'd been the only ones wearing the shirt, my ex and I both agreed it would not have been adorable. We both had a good time in our own usual and different ways; he stood in the corner and watched people, and I knew everyone's name by the end of the night. I was introducing my son to people at the gig I thought he would have known. Connections are always good, and I am a pretty good connector (if I may say so without being boastful).

I ordered a beer, and in talking to the bartender mentioned that my son was in the band. He asked me which musician was my son; when I told him, he said my son is an amazing musician and an amazing person, and after talking to me for even a few minutes he could see why. How sweet is that? Then he told me I wouldn't pay for a beer all night. I gave him a huge tip. The bar is closing soon, and he's likely to be out of work for at least a short period. I would have spent the money on my four beers anyway. Better it go to him. In addition to talking with the bartender, I struck up many interesting conversations with anyone and everyone. It was a great night. Next time I'm at that intersection, I'll be on the other side of the street. Either side is the sunny one; it just depends on the occasion.