A couple of days later...
the phone rang.
Back then we only had one phone. It hung on the kitchen wall in the kitchen. I'd caught myself looking at it more than once over the previous few days.
Every time it rang...
I wondered if it might be them.
Dad wasn't home.
Mom was busy.
So I answered it.
"Hello?"
A friendly voice answered.
"Hi... is this Bill?"
"Yes, sir."
We exchanged a few pleasantries.
He asked if I'd been playing.
I smiled.
"Yes, sir."
"How's it going?"
"Pretty good."
Then it hit me.
I recognized the voice.
It was one of the two men from the concert.
He laughed.
"Well... we've been talking."
I don't think my heart had ever beaten that fast. "We'd like to come out and visit with you and your parents." I remember staring at the phone for a second.
My parents?
Nobody had ever asked to meet my parents because of my music before.
"Would that be okay?"
"Sure."
"When?"
"How about this Saturday?"
"I'll have to ask my dad."
He chuckled.
"That's exactly who we'd like to talk to."
We settled on a time.
I thanked him for calling.
Then we hung up.

For a few seconds...
I just stood there looking at the phone. It wasn't just a phone call anymore.
For the first time...
this dream felt real.

Dad got home a little while later. I don't remember exactly how I brought it up.
Probably somewhere between supper and the evening news.
"Dad..."
"Those two guys from the concert called today."
He looked up.
"They want to come talk to us."
Dad didn't say much.
"When?"
"Saturday."
He nodded once.
"Okay."
That was it.
No excitement.
No speculation.
No celebration.
He didn't ask about record deals. He didn't ask how many people came to the concerts. He didn't ask how much money they made. He wanted to meet the men.
Just...
"Okay."

At fifteen...
I thought he wasn't nearly as excited as I was. I think he was simply asking a different question than I was. I was wondering if this might be the beginning of my dream. He was wondering who was asking his fifteen-year-old son to leave home. Dad had lived long enough to know something I hadn't learned yet.
Opportunities deserve excitement.
Decisions deserve patience.

Right on time...
a car pulled into the driveway. The same two men stepped out. Dad met them at the front door.
I remember handshakes.
Smiles.
A little small talk.
Then we all settled into the living room.
Funny...
the four of us were sitting in the same room...
but I don't think any of us were having the same conversation. The two men were there to talk about music.
I was already imagining California.
Dad was trying to figure out who these men really were.

They talked about the group.
The concerts.
The recording studio.
Life on the road.
Then they got to the reason they'd come.
"We think Bill has something special."
I glanced over at Dad.
He never interrupted.
Never smiled.
He simply listened.

The two men explained they were looking for a young performer to open their concerts before the band came on stage.
It wasn't really a tour.
It was more like a live audition.
Five concerts.
I wish I could tell you I listened carefully to everything they said.
I didn't.
My imagination had already taken over.
Five concerts?
To a fifteen-year-old kid...
it sounded like a future.

"We know he's only fifteen."
"We'll look after him."
"He'll be safe."
There was something reassuring about the way they said it. Not like businessmen trying to close a deal. More like two men who understood exactly what they were asking a father to trust them with.

Dad sat quietly for a moment.
Then he looked over at me.
"Billy Boy..."
"You want to do this?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Yes, sir."
He smiled.
Just a little.
Then he turned back toward the two men.
"All right."
"Let's see where this goes."
 

A few weeks later...
Dad and I climbed into the car and headed for Des Moines. The group was already on tour.
We weren't starting together.
We were joining them.
The closer we got...
the quieter I became.
I'd spent days imagining what this trip might be like.
Now...
I was about to find out.
Funny thing is...
packing didn't take very long.
I didn't own much.
A few changes of clothes.
A toothbrush.
Some guitar strings.
My Yamaki.
That was about it.
The suitcase wasn't very full.
My imagination was.
I spent far more time thinking about where I was going...
than deciding what to take.
I remember staring out the window as the miles slipped by.
Every mile seemed to carry me a little farther from the life I'd always known...
and a little closer to the one I'd been dreaming about.

Every now and then Dad would ask a question.
Mostly...
we just drove.
I have no idea what was going through his mind that afternoon.
I never asked.
Maybe he was thinking about the concerts.
Maybe he was thinking about the miles between Missouri and California.
Or maybe...
he was simply trying to prepare himself to let his fifteen-year-old son go.
I'll never know.
By late afternoon we pulled into the hotel where the group was staying.
Dad parked the car.
For a moment...
neither one of us moved.
Then he looked over at me.
"Ready?"
I smiled.
"As ready as I'm gonna be."

We carried my guitar and overnight bag through the lobby. One of the guys spotted us almost immediately.
"There he is!"
Suddenly I was surrounded by handshakes.
Smiles.
Backslaps.
Introductions.
Nobody treated me like a kid. They treated me like I belonged. That meant more than they probably realized.

Most of the guys were in their twenties.
They had apartments.
Careers.
Lives that seemed impossibly grown up to me.
I was fifteen.
I still needed my dad to drive me to the tour. Maybe that's why they looked after me from the very beginning. They never made me feel out of place.
If anything...
they quietly took me under their wing.

Before long one of the guys looked at his watch.
"We'd better get going."
I picked up my guitar.
One of the guys smiled.
"You ready?"
I looked down at the guitar case in my hand.
Then back at him.
"No."
Everybody laughed.
Then I smiled.
"But I sure want to be."

We climbed onto the bus.
The door folded shut behind us.
The engine came to life.
I found a seat by the window.
As the bus pulled away from the hotel...
I looked back.
Dad was still standing there.

One hand raised.

Watching until the bus disappeared from sight.

I waved until I couldn't see him anymore. I've often wondered what was going through his mind that afternoon.
I never asked.
Some questions...
you don't realize matter until it's too late.

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