This past weekend, my family and I celebrated, along with 74 other alumni and their families, the 20th Anniversary of BYU's Vocal Point.
I was in the group from 1995 to 1997. And enjoyed performing in front of millions of screaming women - perhaps not millions; one or two, perhaps? - dying to hold my hand. It was BYU, after all, and certainly there would be nothing beyond that sought after or desired by either party. (Please no Brandon Davies jokes).
It is always a particular rush to perform on stage when the crowd is enjoying it and for a brief moment you are the focus of their attention. Let's be real. We each got an 8-10 minute opportunity to do it again during the afternoon concert.
But performing on stage simply cannot compare with this:
Watching that live (twice) caused my heart to grow many, many more times than the Grinch's did. I cannot put into words how awesome it was to watch 3 of my children perform in front of a sold-out 670 seat theater.
That evening, though, reliving my glory days collided with reality. After the current Vocal Point group did their evening show, I was congratulating them on their show and on how quite very good they are. (WAY better than my years were.)
"Thanks, Brother Avery. I was 7 when you were in the group."
CRASH!
