August 3rd was a day layered with meaning. It marked the final stop of Paul Simon’s A Quiet Celebration tour, my 25th wedding anniversary, and the 11th anniversary of my dad’s passing. My wife and I sat together in the audience. She has indulged my obsession and traveled with me to Seattle, Las Vegas, Billings and Missoula, San Francisco, Toronto, and New York for various shows over the years, supporting a passion that is mine more than hers. It was my 17th Paul Simon concert overall and the fourth time on this tour alone.

Paul Simon has been the soundtrack to my life for more than 40 years. My parents were both teachers. My mom was a music teacher, and my dad produced school musicals, so music and performance were woven into our family life. We had a huge record collection at home, filling our house with sounds from many artists and eras. But Paul Simon’s songs always held a special place, becoming the constant companion through decades of change, growth, loss, and celebration.

A week before that final concert on this tour, I had seen Paul perform in Vancouver with my mom, who is now 84, along with my wife and older daughter. Sharing that evening with three generations of my family brought the music full circle, deepening the connections between past and present, memory and hope.

Since my dad passed in 2014, I have seen Paul Simon 14 times. That is not a coincidence. These concerts have become a kind of ritual, a way to stay close to something I shared deeply with my dad. Each performance feels like a thread that ties me back to the past,  to our shared love of music, to those early records spinning in the house, to the soundtracks that shaped who we were. And each time, I have wondered if this might be the last. Then I have felt the unexpected joy when another tour is announced. At 83, Paul seems to be having his own trouble retiring, and I am grateful for it. These concerts are unexpected gifts. They are reminders that we never know which moments with those we admire  will be the last, making each encounter more precious.

It is remarkable how music can become a bridge across loss, time, and change. It is a thread that ties us to memory and family. When my dad was battling cancer, he often listened to Graceland, an album that has been my personal favorite for as long as I can remember. The rhythms, stories, and melodies from that album (controversial at the time) are more than songs. They are stories of connection between people, places, and generations.

Further back in his catalogue, there is a line from The Boxer that feels especially powerful given the state of our world. “A fighter still remains.” On this tour, Paul seemed to linger on the line a little longer. It landed differently. Music, like the best education, does not just entertain or inform. It becomes internalized. It becomes part of how we navigate life’s challenges. Just as Paul’s voice has accompanied me through different seasons of my life, the most meaningful teachers become part of their students’ internal soundtracks. Their encouragement, wisdom, and belief echo through students’ lives long after the classroom doors close, surfacing in moments of difficulty, discovery, and growth.

This connection between music and learning runs deep. Both great songs and great teaching become woven into who we are. They are not just external experiences but transform into internal resources we carry forward. A student might hear their teacher’s voice years later when tackling a difficult problem, just as I hear Paul’s melodies during life’s most significant moments.

I am grateful to my parents who taught me that education and music are both ways to connect deeply with the world and with each other. Seeing Paul Simon live again, with my wife on our anniversary, and earlier with my mom and daughter, felt like a celebration of those enduring connections. It was a reminder that the past lives on when we share stories and songs together.

We all have soundtracks to our lives. These voices and melodies accompany us through our stories. Music, like education, reminds us that what truly endures are the connections we make. To family. To history. To each other. And to the dreams and struggles that make us human.

So here is to Paul Simon, whose music continues to remind us that even when we are battered and worn, a fighter still remains. And here is to all the teachers and artists who become part of our soundtracks, helping us keep fighting, keep growing, and keep connecting, no matter what the world brings our way.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI.  Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.