Life Lessons Learned Along the Way: Ripple
We continue our series of personal, impactful stories that have shaped how we practice law.
By 2015, my college days as a devoted fan of the Grateful Dead were a distant memory and seemed to be another lifetime ago. The demands of raising a family and work, along with my interest in hearing new music, left little time for continuing to explore their catalog. Then, a concert weekend in 2015 reunited me with that community, and in the process, carved the space for precious one-on-one time with one of my kids that I will never forget.
My friend Mark asked if I wanted to meet him in Chicago for Fare Thee Well, the last live shows of the four surviving members of the band. I asked my wife if she was interested. A firm, but polite “no thank you” quickly followed. My oldest kid – not interested. Middle kid – same. Youngest kid, then 10 years old – “sure, that sounds fun.”
I harbored no illusions that the music would be a draw for her. In the ensuing six months, we talked about what else she wanted to do in Chicago (answer: Planetarium and Museum of Science and Industry), how many of the three shows she wanted to attend (answer: 2), and that the AirBnB owner also owned a restaurant.
When we boarded the train for the six-hour ride, I was thrilled to see our car filled with tie-dyed travelers. From that moment and through the entire weekend, every time, a fellow Deadhead was spotted, it seemed like a reenactment of the line from Scarlet Begonias about “strangers stopping strangers just to shake their hands.” Nobody in a tie-dye was a stranger that weekend. “Where are you from?” “When was your first show?” “What are you hoping to hear?” “What will it be like to see someone else singing the Jerry songs?” We were not strangers, but reunited members of a community that I did not realize how much I had missed.
Two memories from that weekend are particularly precious. The first was the train ride. As we rolled down the tracks, sharing stories with fellow Deadheads about shows and tours and songs and memories, someone brought out a boombox. I was thrilled to see my daughter singing the first song with the rest of us. But then she sang the second song. And the one after that. I was blown away. She explained that she had spent the last six months diving into the catalog, listening on her own and learning the songs. I was quite the proud daddy!
As to my second memory, let’s be honest. Grateful Dead shows were never known for their brevity. We had lost an hour traveling west, then an hour long first set, followed by a lengthy intermission. I was not surprised when my daughter fell asleep during the extended experimental section of the second set known as Drums / Space. She had earned the right to snuggle on my shoulder.
And yet, when the band picked up the pace, my daughter rallied. She not only woke up, she started dancing again, and rocked out to the last few songs of the second set.
As the band left the stage, I asked if she was ready to go. She nodded. We would miss the encore but as a parent, I knew that it was much better to leave a few minutes too early than a few minutes too late.
As we walked down the ramp at Soldier Field from our seats on the balcony, the crowd was on its feet, cheering for the band to play an encore. The concourses were empty. My Los Angeles roots of beating the traffic were on full display.
We had almost reached the exit when the band returned. Loud and clear, we heard the opening notes of Ripple, the song that I had most wanted to hear that weekend. I had never heard the song live, as the Grateful Dead had rarely performed it live, in fact only once after 1981, with the rumor being that the 1988 performance was a request from a Wish Kid through the Make-a-Wish foundation.
It happened to be one of the songs that I would play for my children when they were growing up. I looked at my daughter, she looked at me, and we both knew. We rushed through the tunnel to the back of the field and blissfully watched the late, great Bob Weir sing, “Let there be songs to fill the air.” The thrill of that song lingered long after the final note had played. In the one-hour walking traffic jam to leave the concourse, with fans crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with no one moving, you would expect frustration. Instead, the smiling faces all around would spontaneously erupt in song, ironically singing a line from that encore: “If I knew the way, I would take you home.”
So, what does this concert and family memory have to do with work? I know so many of you from the ABA’s twice-annual conference on legal malpractice liability. The conference is always filled with interesting speakers and activities. But the magic, the community-building, happens when we share a bite to eat, or our cocktails and mocktails. That is when it becomes less of a conference, and more of a reunion. That is when we connect beyond our shared work experiences, and learn about each other as people.
I feel blessed to be a part of this conference community. Like a ripple in still water, I hope that our shared meals and conversations will extend beyond the conference, and help create the community that we all need.