Water droplets slip down the storefront window, as two blurry figures pass by inside. A smacking sound is heard. A teenage boy stops to flip through albums in the record bin. “The Great Rock ‘N’ Roll Swindle by the Sex Pistols… oh cool… and Dad… look at the rad Sid Vicious t-shirt!” Eric points at the shirt rack. “Can you get these for me?” His father, Dr. Gary Scott strolls down the aisle inside “Boy” on King’s Road. “How about we go for a Steak and Kidney pie instead?” he offers. “I wanna get some Doc Martens too,” Eric insists. It’s somber and drizzling outside. Eric eagerly continues to browse through the punk rock gear as his Dad smacks his hand again with a horsewhip, in curiosity.

Dr. Scott thought it would be a good idea to bring his 16-year-old son, Eric to England to visit the birthplace of Shakespeare, do some brass rubbings, explore England’s historic castles and see the HMS Victory at the National Museum of the Royal Navy in Portsmouth. Eric really only wants to eat pizza, find cool punk rock souvenirs, and watch movies like many 16-year-old kids growing up in the 80’s.

Sitting in a small breakfast nook, at their hotel, Dr. Scott sips his coffee while reading the Sunday Times. He takes a bite of his buttered crumpet, “Eric, would you like to go to a concert this Wednesday?” he suggests. “Why…who’s playing…The Clash… The Jam?” Eric queries, sitting up sipping his orange juice. “Bob Dylan,” his father replies. “Bob Dylan?” Eric groans. “Isn’t he that old guy who plays the harmonica?” “Yeah…among other things, he’s a great songwriter,” his dad affirms. “He an activist… a preacher poet of social protest. When I was your age, he stood up for the civil rights movement…he created quite a stir… you could say he’s an anarchist… similar to your favorite band, the Sex Pistols.” “They’re not my favorite band, I just like punk rock.” Eric defends himself. “He’s an anarchist?” Eric says. His father nods. “Sure, if you want to see Bob Dylan, I’m in.” Dr. Scott folds the paper, gets up and walks over to the hotel reception. “Could you arrange to get two tickets for this concert?” he shows the paper to the lady at the desk. “I’ll do my best sir,” she replies.

In typical London fashion, as dusk settles in, a light rain starts to fall. Outside Earl’s Court, Dr. Scott holds the Times above his head as he looks around at the crowd lined up for the Bob Dylan concert. It’s an eclectic group of people, from hippies, headbangers, mods, new wavers, to born-again Christians and even a few punk rockers. The doors open and after 20 minutes of shuffling to the entrance, they make their way to their seats on the upper balcony. Dr. Scott proudly confesses, “These seats are better than I thought. Whadda you think Eric?” “They’re ok,” he replies as they sit down. The concert opens with “Gotta Serve Somebody”. Eric slumps down in his seat, worried that the whole show will be gospel music. “Dad, what did you get us into?” he moans. “Don’t worry kiddo, it’ll be great,” his father says reassuringly. A few songs later and by the time “Like A Rolling Stone” starts playing, Eric settles in and begins to enjoy himself.

After an hour or so, Eric gets drowsy and drifts in and out of consciousness while Bob Dylan plays “Forever Young”.

“May you grow up to be righteousMay you grow up to be trueMay you always know the truthAnd see the lights surrounding you”

When Bob sings this last line, a beam of white light bursts through a hole in the ceiling above the stage. Startled, Eric checks to see if his father notices the light. He doesn’t. The light grows in intensity and volume. Eric shields his eyes as Bob continues singing:

“May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young”

From out of the light, Eric sees a shadowy figure slowly descend from the rafters.

“May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift”

Eric squints and rubs his eyes. The descending figure is holding a microphone and begins singing along with Bob:

“May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung”

Eric looks at his father, who is unfazed, just sitting back, enjoying the show. Eric rubs his eyes again, stands up and points to the stage, “It’s him!” he yells. The figure radiates in clarity. It’s Sid Vicious in a blaze of white light, wearing black leather pants and a red swastika t-shirt, singing along with Bob:

“May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young”

Sid starts slam dancing on stage and gets a running start to dive into the mosh pit forming at the front of the stage. Eric is excitedly jumping around, dancing and thrashing in the aisle. “Hey, Dad… thanks…this is a really cool concert,” Eric yells. “I’m enjoying it too son… you’re welcome,” his father says. “Can we still go to Stratford to see the home of Shakespeare?” Eric asks. “Sure son…sure,” his father says with a warm glow in his eyes. Sid dives into the crowd. The song ends. The stadium is silent.

Suddenly, huge red curtains open to reveal a large silver staircase. Sid Vicious walks down the stairs to the music of “My Way” by Frank Sinatra. At the front of the stage, Sid grabs the microphone and begins singing:

“And now the end is near…”

“Dad…excuse me Daddy!” a small girl’s voice is heard.

“… and so I face the final curtain.”

“Daaaad!” she pleads again.

Eric snaps out of his daydream. “What is it, honey?” “Can you come upstairs?” Sarah asks. “Sure what for?” Eric says. “I want us to plaaay… come on!” she demands. “Ok, I’m commming!” Eric echoes. He holds her hand as they walk up the stairs together. “What were you doing Daddy?” Sarah asks. “I was just thinking about Grandpa,” Eric confesses. “It’s ok Daddy, I miss Grandpa too,” Sarah consoles.