Oh Barry, Could This Be Magic?

There I was, performing my marital duty: dropping my wife off at the Barry Manilow concert in Springfield. As we approached the venue, my insecurities bubbled up like a well-shaken bottle of soda. Barry Manilow—legendary for his classic hits like “Mandy” and “Copacabana”—was about to perform for my wife, daughter, and a good friend, and I was feeling as out of place as a disco ball at a barn dance.

As we pulled up to the arena I realized this wasn’t just any drop-off; this was Barry territory, where my wife’s eyes would sparkle like they do when “Can’t Smile Without You” plays on the radio. I braced myself for the inevitable comparison: the sultry, smooth-voiced crooner versus me. My vocal range peaks at an off-key rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

I tried to show nonchalance, as if dropping off my wife to see a pop legend wasn’t making me question my own worth. But let’s face it: there’s something about a concert of this magnitude that makes you realize just how little you know about sequined jackets and feathered hairstyles. As my wife hopped out of the car, I had visions of Barry serenading her with “Looks Like We Made It,” and the insecurities crept in like a surprise encore.

While my wife skipped toward the entrance, I had to wonder if she was imagining herself waltzing across a stage with Barry, singing, “I write the songs that make the whole world sing,” while my internal voice was screaming, “I drive the car that gets you to the concert!”

There I was, parked in the lot, feeling like a background character in a romantic comedy where the husband is always the bumbling fool. I toyed with the idea of Googling Barrys complete discography, But let’s be honest, no amount of research could ease the gnawing thought that Barry was singing “Even Now” to my wife.

I considered blasting “Copacabana” on the car speakers, but realized that singing along might cement my role as the over-the-top, embarrassingly enthusiastic husband. I opted for tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of my insecurities.

When the concert ended, I was there, waiting for her on Hammons Parkway. As she reappeared, glowing from a night filled with Barry’s magic, I was reminded that my role wasn’t to compete with a pop icon but to be the best husband I could be.

As we drove home, my wife eagerly recounted every moment of the concert. I realized that being the chauffeur to her Barry experience was less about living up to the legend and more about sharing in her joy. And as she sang along to the songs that had captivated her, I learned that sometimes being a great husband is simply about being present, even if it means enduring a few insecurities along the way.

In the end, the concert was a reminder that while Barry Manilow might write the songs that make the whole world sing, it’s my job to be the husband who drives her there and back, proving that love, much like a great Barry Manilow tune, is timeless and true.

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Contact the blog author, David L. Burton at dburton541@yahoo.com.