I listen to country music and it’s all Darius Rucker’s fault. You know, I met him once. We were both in Calvin College’s Fieldhouse on a Saturday in the spring of 1995, my freshman year. I was there for a concert, and he was there to give the concert. His band, Hootie and the Blowfish, was opening for Toad the Wet Sprocket. I came for Hootie and after they sang their two (three?) songs, I left. That’s when I ran into him.
“Hootie! Hootie!” a bunch of undergrads were chanting as they swarmed him shaking ticket stubs for him to sign.
I can’t blame the crowd for rushing him. It was an opportunity that wasn’t supposed to happen – I bet Hootie snuck out to catch his breath, or maybe have a cigarette when the crowd of six or seven spotted him. I admit I was intrigued, and that’s how I ended up standing as close to him as you are to your screen. I mean, I could see the thread in his flannel shirt, the rips in the bill of his baseball cap that guys back then worked so hard to obtain. One of his shoelaces on his tan work boots was loose.
I’m over at Makes You Mom today talking about how Darius Rucker (of all people) helped make me into a better mama. Come visit?
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