My mother and father are obsessed with jazz. Back in the mid-80’s they religiously attended Wynton Marsalis concerts, even taking me to a show when I was three. I recall the concert. It was on the lawn, the sun was setting, and I sat on the grass. Mother bought me a fake guitar from the gift shop and I looked at it while the band played.

Yesterday morning mother and I went shopping at the Time Warner Center, and I kept pointing upstairs towards the 6th floor.

“Jazz at Lincoln Center is up there,” I said. “Do you want to go take a peek?” Three or four times she said “no” so we continued to shop. On the fourth floor I pointed again a few flights up. “It’s right up there! Are you sure you don’t want to take a peek?” I asked. Wynton Marsalis rules the roost at Jazz at Lincoln Center, and I could see that the prospect of meeting him circling in her head.

“Maybe just a little peek.”

So we took an escalator up, went through a set of glass doors, and arrived upstairs in the front atrium of the center. There was a small gift shop and the clerk pointed us to the “hall of jazz” an educational exhibit room showcasing off the newly inducted members to the Jazz Hall of Fame. We both got a free book of jazz postcards, and watched a video on the inductees (my favorite is Max Roach).

Before leaving we looked out the atrium window to view Columbus Circle, spoke with a security guard, and recognized faces of famous musicians in their wall of vintage photographs.

Mom got a kick out of it for sure, and so did I.