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Finally, a ticket to the showI can't stop grinning. What do you do when your friend makes a dream come true for you? If you're me, and your friend just handed you a ticket to see Reba McEntire in concert, and the seats happen to be on the floor, center, 19 rows from the stage, you grin. And giggle. A lot. My friends and family are all aware that I have a slight hero-worship of Reba. I've adored her music since I was old enough to sing along to the car radio. I knew the words to "Little Rock" at the tender age of 6 and didn't understand their meaning until I was 15, but I sang along anyway. I begged my mom to let me dye my hair red, I covered Reba's songs for vocal recitals in high school, and I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. 
Beyond her musical abilities, though, I always admired the way she handled herself with class and grace and humor. I took comfort in knowing that if a cowgirl from Oklahoma could realize her dreams then surely I could as well. It was that belief that got me to where I am today, writing this column in this publication. You'd think with such hero worship I'd have met her by now, or at least seen her in concert many times, but you'd be wrong. In all of these years, there's been one jinx after another keeping me from actually watching her perform in concert. The high school play, in which I had a lead role, happened to be the same night as her show in Wichita, Kan. The year she was at the Kansas State Fair in Hutchinson, I was on a 4-H trip to Kansas City. The summer she headlined Country Stampede in Manhattan, Kan., I was in Indianapolis for a collegiate sorority leadership convention. The last one was particularly tough to deal with because I'd arranged it with a friend working security for Stampede to let me into the backstage area to watch her show. My plane was delayed two and a half hours and I rolled into Manhattan just as her limo rolled out of town. It got to be so tragic that it was a family joke. Only I wasn't laughing. For the past 20 years or so, every single time Reba was in a four-state vicinity to me, I couldn't go to her concert. Then, a couple of weeks ago, my friend, Jennifer, called me to ask what I was doing Jan. 31. I thought Jen would come to town and we'd have a little supper and catch up on old times, nothing more. "How would you like to go with me to Wichita and see Reba?" she asked. I darn near fell out of my chair. "When, where, how did you get tickets? I thought they were all sold out?" I was floored. Turns out she'd gotten four seats for herself, her husband, and her parents to see Reba on tour with Kelly Clarkson. Jen's husband, Mike, got sick and wasn't going to the show, so they had a ticket to spare. (For this, I owe Mike homemade snickerdoodles for the remainder of his natural life.) I didn't care where the seats were, we could be in the very top row of the farthest section--what mattered was that I was finally going to see my idol, singing on stage, in person. And I was going to go with my dearest friend. I think my heart stopped beating for three seconds. The day of the concert, I was impossible to be around at work. I practically skipped through the halls here at High Plains Journal. And, even though the weather was freezing and there were snow and ice warnings all around the metro area of Wichita, I wasn't going to let anything dampen my mood. And sure enough, the jinx was broken. We got to the coliseum safely, found our seats, and sat back and enjoyed the show. I laughed; I cried; it was the feel-good memory of my lifetime. The performance was fantastic and Reba's voice was in top form. And, no, we didn't get to meet her in person or anything extraordinary like that--I'd still be on oxygen if that had happened. But still, it was amazing, because my simple lifetime dream of watching my idol sing in person came true. And all because of my best friend. I just can't stop grinning. Jennifer M. Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com. 2/18/08 Date: 2/12/08
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