The Boy's voice never fails to awe me. His songs in Urinetown showed off his low range, much to my delight. There is just something about a smooth rich baritone that sends shivers up my spine. Not to say I don't appreciate his upper range also, but I adore the low stuff. The Boy can sing. The show, brimming with social commentary and delicious satire, amused and delighted on many levels.
Performances ran for one weekend only which meant The Boy's father and stepmother would be in town the same time we were. That is only a problem because I am selfish. Wendy and I resolved that by arriving Friday night so we could have The Boy all to ourselves for a bit.
I've bemoaned the relationship "issues" The Boy and his father have had. So when my son informed me his father was taking him grocery shopping Saturday instead of us taking him, only a brief flash of envy washed over me. And the old man could foot the bill this time! It occurred to me grocery shopping with his father would be a bonding experience. The Boy's love of cooking mostly came from him. I don't know if they know it, but I do: they share culinary styles. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall in the Harris Teeter.
After the show Saturday evening, we saw his father in the theatre lobby. Surprisingly (why that is surprising is a tale for another day perhaps), he left his wife's side and came toward us. And there it was. The thing that had been missing the last few times we'd seen each other. Excited, his face was aglow with an open smile, pride and delight shining in his eyes as he exclaimed, "He was amazing!"
Not to say his father has not always been proud of him. He has. How could he not? The Boy is incredible. But pride is a multi-lane highway. It's easy to take the wrong exit and get lost on a side street.
But it seems they are both back on the freeway now. Maybe even travelling in the same automobile. That pleases me more than I can say.