Permission Slips

I remember the stage, the electrical cords, and the grass but that’s about it. I don’t remember the exact location and I don’t remember the names of the bands, but I’m pretty sure I was seventeen years old and I’m nearly certain it was in Charlotte.

“The Barefoot on The Grass Festival" wasn’t so much a festival as it was a small crowd watching a couple of local garage bands on a tiny stage. There were maybe 100 people, and admission was free if you brought a can of food for the homeless shelter.

But I loved it, and I was hooked. I remember thinking how cool it would be to put on something like that.

Building a stage, setting up a PA system, making posters - it all seemed so incredible.

Later, in college, I started attending a lot of festivals. I remember the first SmileFest, when it was nothing more than 100 tents in the middle of a cow pasture. A decade later it was a four-day event with thousands of people and bands from all over the country.

The whole time, there and at other festivals, I’d think about how awesome it would be if I could do the same thing.

The Dockwood Music Show is coming up on April 6th. With the help of my buddy Steve and some of his friends, we are putting on a show to benefit Turning Point, Inc.

We are totally flying by the seat of our pants. I have no idea how it will turn out, how many people will attend, or how much money we’ll raise.

But I do know it will be a good time.

And I know that finally, 26 years later, I’m learning how much fun it can be to put on something like this

The ironic part is that I could have done it all along.

I could have done it last year when Steve and I first discussed expanding his annual Music Jam. I could have done it in college when I was friends with some folks who played in bands. I could have done it when I moved to Chapel Hill, where there was a thriving music scene, and I knew tons of musicians.

I could have done it 100 times already, I just didn’t.

I think I was waiting for someone’s permission.

The voice in my head said, “Hey, you’re not that guy! You’re just a Realtor, go sell some houses punk!”

When I sent the final version of the Dockwood Music Show poster to the print shop yesterday, I was reminded that I don’t need anyone’s permission.

Nor do you.

You and I are free to do whatever we want to do.

Which is a good thing, because unless we write them for ourselves, permission slips appear to be in extremely short supply.