I finally figured out what’s fantastic about being older! We’re multi-faceted–we show all the colors of the rainbow.

Unlike when we’re young, and we’re myopic. Think about how boring we were. We’d talk about school, our favorite foods and activities, and that’s about it. We have one favorite color or maybe two; we can’t decide.

But when we’re older, every color’s our favorite. Everything links together, and things we thought were disconnected connect.

It makes life fun. Finally, we make sense of all these separate pieces.

When I was young, I thought life was all about basketball and sports if you were to push the envelope. But it appeared to end when Dad left the game—time to move on to the next chapter.

Later in my adulthood, we’d recreate the fun when Dad would have an idea and call me up and tell me about it. He’d be my muse, and I’d go and write about it.

Then the girls got into singing (and community theater) which made my world a bit bigger. Until Skylar graduated and went to school this year, which reminded me I only have Alexandra for three more years until this phase of my life ends, too.

But when the girls wanted more than anything to go to the Taylor Swift Eras Tour concert, how fun to tag along, even though I wasn’t officially a Swiftie or anything.

But I had an ulterior motive. I cannot lie. I planned to write about the concert. Share the experience for those who couldn’t go. I documented the concert way more than if I had gone to be a spectator.

And afterward, I went to write it, but it wasn’t coming together–maybe because I wasn’t a Swiftie. I needed a fresh perspective.

When it’s anything sports-related, Dad’s the muse I call on.

Not because he’d made the trifecta in basketball as a player, coach, and owner. Or because he led the Sixers to two championships as a player and coach and co-started the Miami Heat. He has a memory for basketball stats and stories that outwits AI. And he can talk about any sport you want to throw at him for good measure. And not because he has the most incredible friends.

Dad became my muse when I was old enough to go home with him after the Sixers games. On the car ride home, we’d discuss what had transpired, whether we won or lost. Dad loved to hear what I had to say, and he’d say things that helped me see the game differently.

Those moments gave me the thrill of experiencing, reliving, and analyzing an event by putting it into words, even if only verbally.

When Dad stopped coaching, that oral tradition ended, and I got into writing. But that special bond we had where my Dad’s insight helped me see things more precisely, and my questions and analysis helped give my Dad the sounding board he needed to express himself; those days live on.

He’s never been a writer. I’ve never been able to play basketball. But my Dad and I have a relationship now where he can call me with an idea, and almost like he’s passing me the ball, I can take it and run with it.

Fast forward to last week, utterly unrelated to sports, except that Taylor Swift sang in Lincoln Financial Field, but going to that concert and writing about it made me think about going to those Sixer games and going on those car rides home with Dad.

Writing about this concert, the girls (and my Dad) allow me to be part of something I can’t do. I couldn’t get up on that stage and perform my heart out the way Taylor does, and I didn’t pull off being a Swiftie either, being that I couldn’t memorize all of those words, and eventually, I had to sit.

But I could analyze it. Talk about it. Make it real for others. I could do those things because that’s what I used to do with Dad.

Only who wanted to have my take on the Taylor Swift concert? Just because I wore my electric blue lamé pants to the concert didn’t make me a Swiftie.

It wasn’t going well, so I took a break from writing and called Dad.

Dad got excited when I mentioned I was writing the article and was stuck. He said, “Howard Eskin went to the concert all three nights.”

Howard Eskin is all about sports–he’s been a radio talk show guy ever since I could remember. How could sports have anything to do with Taylor Swift? I had to find out.

“Wait, do you think he’d talk to me?”

“Of course, he would. He’s great. You’ll love talking to him. Here’s his number.”

And there Dad went again. He was my muse connecting me to Howard Eskin. Of all people, he’s a Swiftie.

Way better to have Howard’s three-night perspective on the concert than my one, so we coordinated a phone conversation later that afternoon.

So I called him and politely called him Mr. Eskin. But the first rule he established is, “No more of this, Mr. Eskin. Call me Howard.”

And with that out of the way, we talked. Howard’s a talker, so he got into his profession of being a radio sports personality, honestly.

But here we weren’t even talking about sports. We had so much fun exchanging stories that sometimes we talked over one another.

But even when the “interview,” if that’s what you call it, was over, we kept texting. I needed to ask for a photo with Howard wearing his T-shirt: “It’s me. Hi, I’m the problem. It’s me.” He wore it to the Friday night concert.

He’s hysterical. Typically, you say something funny, and the other person laughs. With Howard, you say something funny, and he adds to it and makes it even more amusing than you ever intended.

I texted that the paparazzi were after him, and he said, “The paparazzi have always followed me, but this is three, four times bigger.”

I’m still laughing over that one.

But you have to understand I never met Howard. He was always Mr. Eskin to me. But when Mr. Eskin would call, Dad would always take it. All the other reporters would get the blowoff, but not Howard. Mom and Dad would listen to the Howard Eskin show after the games.

But Mom would get upset with something Howard said and say, “I’m going to give Howard a piece of my mind.”

And she never did because she loved him too much. Dad would laugh, “That’s Howard.”

Mom said, “Howard works like a dog, and he could back up everything he said because he did his research. And, she added, “He’s like a bug. He’s everywhere.”

And so he is everywhere–even at all three Taylor Swift concerts in Philly.

It’s when sports intersects with music and life; it all comes full circle and feels unreal. Yet, it’s real, all right. Who knows what magic can happen when all our seemingly unrelated worlds collide?

And he said there’s no way to tell which was the best night–they’re all great, though I give my lowdown in the article.

Taylor Swift. In case you didn’t hear, Howard’s a Big-Time Swiftie!

Meanwhile, Dad, you’re forever my muse, and Howard, being able to talk shop with you, even if it’s Taylor Swift and not sports, it’s priceless and maybe a sign that I’m getting older and all my worlds are coming together in new and exciting ways. And, if that’s the case, I’ll take getting older any day!

“BEST DAY”