The Wish (Introduction) (Springsteen on Broadway)

My mom was a different story altogether. I wanna release you from suicide watch right now. Snap out of it, come on. Because my mother was bright, happy, she'd merrily make conversation with a broom handle, she believed that there was good faith, good heart, good hope in all citizens. She gave the world a lot more credit perhaps than it deserves, but that was her way. Now on school mornings, I hated school, that's just rockstar 101. If you don't hate school in my business, please keep your fucking day job alright? Because it's a sign, it's a sign that, brother, you're going nowhere man, nowhere. You need to have hatred in your heart to get to the top where I am, alright? You've got to hate on, uh - so of course I hated getting up and uh, my mom had perfected this technique in the morning where she'd stand over my bed with a glass of ice water and give me 30 seconds, eh you know, "Five, four, three, two", boom! Niagara Falls. I would get dressed, I would drift downstairs to breakfast where I would feast daily on a huge bowl of sugar pops, a fine product, with just one problem - they don't put enough sugar in those sugar pops. So I wasn't content until I snowed more sugar on my sugar pops until they looked like the Himalayas, and then mmm good, with a buzz on, and a kiss from my mom, I was off, with my sister, lumbering up the street with our book bags, as my mom's high heels clicked lightly in the other direction toward Lawyer's Title Insurance Company in town center, she was a legal secretary. That was a job she did since the day she got out of high school, fifty years to follow. Goes to work, doesn't miss a day, never sick, never down, never complains, work doesn't appear to be a burden for her but it's a source of energy and of social pleasure. Now, some evenings I would meet my mother at closing time and we would be the last to leave the office and this was always a great privilege to me. I would have my mother all to myself, and with the building empty, her high heels would echo down the long linoleum hallway, and with the fluorescent lights out, lawyers' cubicles empty, secretaries; desks empty, typewriters covered, silent, the building was so still, after all the noise of the day ya know it was so, it got so quiet, it was as if - it, it was as if the building itself was resting after a long day of service in the interest of our town. And then suddenly we'd be through the front door and out on Main Street in five o'clock rush hour and she would stride along, statuesque, and, I'd be runnin' alongside her just, trying to keep up and I would be, ya know, looking up at her, and uh, it's a sight I've never f-, never forgotten - my mother walking home from work, had some - just some eternal impact on me, ya know uh, she uh, she always had these very ethnic features, she had coal black hair, Italian olive skin, and when she was young she wore that red lipstick, that was very fashionable, in the 50's. And she'd be looking down at me with a look that for me, was like the grace of Mary, Made me understand for the first time how good it feels, feel pride in somebody that you love, and who loves you back, ya know. She let the town know that we are handsome, responsible members of this shit dog bird, pullin' our own individual weight doin' what has to be done day after day, we have a place here that we have earned, and we have a reason to open our eyes at the break of each day and breathe in a life that's steady and good. My mom was truthfulness, consistency, good humor, professionalism, grace, kindness, optimism, civility, fairness, pride in yourself, responsibility, love, faith in your family, commitment, joy your work, and a never-say-die thirst for living - for living. For living and for life. And most importantly, for dancing. My mother and her two sisters were dancing machines, alright. They grew up in the 40's with the big bands and the swing bands, and they, and they learned the jitterbug, and, and uh, it was in their bones, ya know, uh, my mom is seven years into Alzheimer's. And she's 93. But dancing, and the desire and need to dance is something that, it hasn't left her. Remains an essential primal part of who she is, it's beyond language, it's more powerful than memory, and when she comes in the door, we make sure there's music on. She wants to dance, ya know. These things were the embodiment of my mother, they were her heart, she carried on and she carries on as if they never, never deserted her