A Perfect Summer's Evening

Last night I took my boys to see a friend, and perhaps my favorite band in the world, Ricardo Lemvo. He plays Afro-Cuban music (he is African) and his is the happiest music I have ever heard. He himself is like a grenade of happiness and joy. He played at the Culver City City Hall courtyard. My facebook invitation said 25 people would be there.

I packed up the boys and we headed over. We could hear the music from blocks away. We parked and walked forever, Benji in his superman cape, Theo skipping, me, salsa-ing down the sidewalk. We got there and there he was, my man, dressed in linen from head to toe, all style. The place was packed. There were old people, young people, yuppies, children, mamas, dudes, people dancing in wheelchairs (I am not exaggerating!)

We went right up to the front and started dancing. I told my boys, "You are Cuban Fernandezes. You must learn to dance. You must be good. This is your music!"

Benji danced. Theo watched. I thought he was sullen, but it turned out he was enthralled--by the trombones, the trumpets, the singing, the clave. The boys finaigled two seats reserved for the state senator and his date (they didn't show) and I squatted beside them, then squirmed in myself.

I remembered dancing in Cuba, in an church old courtyard in Havana. The people were penniless and gaunt, their instruments old, but the music was unforgettable, pure. We drank dark rum from plastic cups--50 cents apiece for the tourists--then danced with old men who moved like sexy young hombres when the music started to play.

I sat there, with my boys in my lap, watching the sun set, the palm trees sway, in a front row seat reserved for a state senator, and thought, I am the luckiest person in the world.