The Night I Played With Garth Brooks

You might ask about my adventures in blogging or maybe you just need to read The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.

Or maybe you need to know what it was like to sing Unanswered Prayers and More Than A Memory with him.

Maybe you need to know if the headline is link bait or if somehow I really did play with Garth.

I understand and I get it.

Every five pixels online is filled with another outrageous headline in which someone tries to get your attention.

So here is the story, I had a dream that I played with Garth.

The Night I Played With Garth Brooks

As far as I know this is the first time I have ever dreamed of playing with Garth, but not the first time I have dreamed of playing alongside various artists.

Springsteen and I have shared a mike and I have danced alongside Mick.

I have made Axel shake with anger because the crowd responded to me and ignored him and I have taught Sinatra how to sing.

That is the mind of a writer and a storyteller.

It is a snapshot of what goes on inside my head all the damn time.

Ask me if I have better dreams when I am awake or asleep and I’ll say I am not really sure.

That is because sometimes when I am awake and my mind drifts off like Walter Mitty I don’t let go the way I do when I am unconscious.

Instead of accepting that I am next to Garth playing guitar and singing I hold back because I don’t play guitar and no one is going to pay to hear me sing.

But if you come closer I’ll share a secret with you, I think I could write a song or songs that Garth would sing.

I think I could do the same for Bruce too.

It is because they sing stories and I figure I tell them.

Granted I know it is not as simple as I make it sound but I can picture it and sometimes that is all that is required to move from dream to reality.


Dream Or Die

Steiner the minor told me he thinks he might have one of the craziest fathers ever.

“Dad, you think you can tackle professional football players, hit professional pitchers and guard NBA players. You’re old enough to be their fathers too and you are not that big.”

I tell him about the guy who weighed 285 that I played basketball against last year.

“He was 6’5 and I blocked a shot and knocked him out of bounds twice while chasing after loose balls. Effort, will and belief will take you a long way.”

My kid shakes his head, “nothing personal, but I bet he sucks.”

“He does suck and a pro will be significantly better but they’ll probably underestimate me. They’ll see an old guy who looks like he is out of shape and that is when I’ll take control.”

“Dad, you might get lucky once or twice but after that…”

I shake my head and tell him I approach life in one way, “Dream or Die.”

Part of me is disappointed with his attitude but it is not because he doesn’t think I can do what I claim but because I want him to dream.

I want him to dare to dream of stealing fire from the gods.

I want him to look at the prettiest girl in school and think she might consider dating him.

I want him to believe he can do anything he wants or at least dream it.

What I can’t figure out now is if this attitude of his is just a phase or if it something more.

This parenting thing ain’t for the faint of heart, now is it.

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