“Are you sure I can’t talk you out of it, Son?”

“We’ve been through this all before, Pa. There’s nothing for me here on the farm. My future is in the city.”

“City ain’t nuttin’ but a bunch of dadburn people runnin’ about. And skyscrapers, taxi cabs and dirty air.”

“You know that’s not true, Pa.”

“Name me one good thing about the city, Son. What’s one thing the city’s got that this farm doesn’t have?”

“Well, there’s KISS, Pa. KISS plays the city all the time.”

KISS? Phooey! That’s just one band, Son.”

“And there’s Metallica, Norah Jones and John Mayer.”

“They’ll get around to playing these parts, Son. Just you wait and see.”

“But I can’t wait, Pa. I’ve waited all my life for the big acts to play around here. Ryan Adams, Tim McGraw, The String Cheese Incident – they’ll never play within’ a possum’s jump of this place, but they always play the city.”

“But… But… But what about the plowing, Son? We’ve got the north forty to plow. And the south forty.”

“That’s not for me, and you know it, Pa. I wasn’t meant for plowing. Or digging. Or planting. The city is where I’d rather be. In fact, I even get allergic smellin’ hay. Like the song says, `Dad, I love you but give me Park Avenue.'”

“But what about all that talk about them building that amphitheatre down the road? Supposed to be a real big one. 20,000 seats or more.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Pa. I’ll believe it when they build a parking lot and start charging people 20 bucks a pop. I’ll believe it when they hold two-for-one deals for lawn seats for David Byrne and Barry Manilow. I’ll believe it when Jimmy Buffett and Clint Black headline that place. But until then, my destiny lies in the city.”

“But what about the chores? The planting, the harvesting and the plowing?”

“That’s your life, Pa, not mine. My life is waiting for me in the city.”

“Well, if that’s your decision.”

“I’m sorry, Pa, but a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. I’ve got to go to the city.”

“All right, Son. But if I can’t talk you into staying, can I ask you to do one thing before you leave?”

“What’s that, Pa?”

“Take me with you! Oh, please take me with you, Son. I’ve never seen Brian Wilson or Bob Dylan. I’ve never heard the Pixies up close and personal. Please, Son, take me with you to the city.”

“You know I can’t do that, Pa. Besides, what about the farm? What about Ma?”

“Your mother can take care of the farm, Son.”

“Yeah, but what about the plowing?”

“Shucks, she don’t need me for that.”

“She don’t?”

“Heck no. She’s been pulling that thing for 30 years. If she can’t figure out where to plow, all the steerin’ in the world ain’t gonna help her now.”