Pete Seeger & Weavermania at the Chicago Historical Society 4/20/2002 (7 of 16)

So I shake Pete Seeger's hand and god-help-me the only thing I can think of to say is "Thank you." He says, "Thank you for singing." Perhaps it would be easier to say something more if, in addition to being who he is, he wasn't so bound up in the memories I have of my mother. I can hear her voice in 'Goodnight Irene.' Or if I hadn't sung 'Amazing Grace' in a small audience with him by the Hudson, just a week after singing it at my parents' fresh grave, with their Canadian friends. I can't believe Pete has outlived them. I have been watching him through the little post-concert crowd, just to see him walk and talk off the stage and be extra sure he is still really alive. This makes me feel somehow safer. The woman next to me introduces her son to him, and says he plays guitar. Pete leans down to his height and gives him a quick history of how America got the guitar, and how "the guitar got us." The kid thinks for a second and then smiles at this sorta punch line. His mother alertly asks for an autograph, and so I get one too. "I used to see you 20 years ago at Wolf Trap, with Arlo," I say, while he's writing. "And now his hair is all white," he says smilingly. Which is true, it is. I myself can't believe I used to do *anything* 20 years ago, but there it is. While I'm writing now, I remember that after one of those Wolf Trap shows, I waited for Arlo and got his autograph, too. I guess my hair will be all white some day. I should be so lucky.