We went to the Symphony last night. My mother-in-law got us tickets "for an evening with Tchaikovsky". We drove across the bridge into San Francisco, and it occurred to me that I hadn't been to see an orchestra play live for many years. It also reminded me of the experience I had when I first moved to Oakland, and I was told that we were "going into the city." Wait a minute, I thought I lived in a city. Apparently not. Even though Oakland has its own Symphony Orchestra, it was made clear to me that San Francisco is where they keep all the culture.
My wife will take most any opportunity to get dressed up, but her boys are another matter. It was apparent that we were in for a special evening, not only because both my son and I were wearing jackets (mine was cashmere, his was velvet), but because his hair was washed and combed. This was significant because this summer has seen clean and combed hair, but never exactly at the same time. It was, however, our unspoken understanding that we would still be wearing our tennis shoes.
The performance was very nice, and to my son's credit, he shifted in his seat quite a bit, but never became unruly. He actually seemed to enjoy it. I credit this to a certain amount of music in his DNA. My mother would have been very proud of how intent he seemed at times. He was able to come up with all the members of the string family, and was patient while he listened to his father wax rhapsodic about the rotary valve tuba. Not once did he ask, "Is it over yet?" He's a good kid, and he knows his Tchaikovsky.