Pinch Hitting for Baseball: Music

B. B. King came home last night. The greatest ambassador the blues ever had is 81 years old now. His hair is white. His line: "I never thought I'd have anything turn white." He sits to play Lucillle now. He is burdened by age and diabetes. But upon taking the stage, he seemed to have been set free. His two hour performance included an old man's wonderful reflections on life and music, and a still-young passion for entertaining and sharing his music. He has always been effusive in appreciating his audience, and we did everything in our power to return that appreciation to him.
He seemed to be suggesting throughout the show that he is done performing. At the end of the evening he said that whether these two shows (the second coming tonight) are his last, or not, he was deeply grateful for the way we received him. Loud "No!"s rang out in response to the suggestion that he might have finished his work. After all, B. B. is the blues predecessor of Bob Dylan; always on the road, always performing, always looking for that next crowd that would listen and enjoy the music, always PLAYING THE MUSIC. The Beale Street Blues Boy sang the Pepticon jingle for us last night. He finished, of course, with The Thrill is Gone. But it wasn't. The old man still has the powerful, roaring voice that is well-known to most everybody in America and people all around the world. 90 countries he reports performing in. He sang and he played. Mr. King has had a television commercial for a blood-sugar monitor that doesn't require pricking the fingers several times every day. It must work, for his playing was exactly what we all came for, immediately identifiable as the instrumental voice of its owner, as the voices of all the great guitarists are.
If he is nearing the completion of his musical task, he is going out on top. We should all be so wise. It was the voice of wisdom that told us that even if he doesn't play it any more, the music will still be there. He commended just about everybody, by name, who follows in his footsteps. He told us they will all still be playing.
But, sir, none of them are you. And you are a treasure. A black man born in Indianola, MS, in 1925, open and generous with all people. The greatest proponent for his artform, who makes time to acknowledge other artists who will never be in his league. An old man who took time to speak to a child during his performance, and toss him a guitar pick. A public figure for 60 years, comfortable with his fame and accomodating to the public that has put demands on him for all that time.
My stepson will be 17 next month. He's a good kid. As happens along this age, we don't spend as much time together as we used to, and will again in a few years. His mom and I aren't so bright right now, but we'll be better in five or six years. He's a guitar player. I don't think he's ever paid any particular attention to the blues. He just has that general awareness of B. B. King that all Americans have. After his first experience of a genuine legend last night, he was quiet. As we got to the car, he said, "That was awesome!" When we got to the house, "Thank you so much." Thank you, Mr. King, for a great evening and the great music that has graced my entire life! Thank you for connecting with one of our kids. Thank you for your life's work, and for the way you've gone about that work. And, wherever life takes you from here, God Bless you!