“What do you mean you don’t like the blues?!”
An old man leans against the old brick wall outside of a small blues club, his old fedora tilted to the side. He wore it for the occasion, thinking it’d be special. He takes a puff of his cigar while maintaining a look of exasperation he directs at his 20-year-old grandson.
He continues, “The blue’s is what started it all! B.B. King himself said it’s the mother of America’s music.” He coughs, pauses, and then takes another puff.
“I’m sorry gramps, but I’ve never really gotten into it…my generation is more into pop! No one listens to old school stuff anymore.” The old man shakes his head. He thought by bringing his grandson here, he could connect with him. But of course 55 years difference in age will make it hard.
“You don’t just listen to the blues, boy,” he says, “you’ve gotta feel it.”
He closed his dark eyes and could hear some of the music from the club leak out onto the street. He let the smooth rendition of Ella’s “Blues in the Night” move through him, bringing him back to the good ol’ days. He took the last puff of his cigar and sighed.
“Well okay son, let’s have you take your old grandfather somewhere then. I know it’s late, but I could go for some food.”
The boy just stared at him, a blank expression. He sighed again, realizing he willll never be able to connect with this child. “Let’s try to find a good diner,” he suggested.
They leave just as the copy cat Ella sings “and the moon’ll hide its light, when you get the blues, blues in the night.”