An open letter to the little boy in the first row of the Phoenix Symphony who conducted his way through the Star Wars and Indiana Jones themes, remaining seated but waving his arms as if the orchestra were following his every move:

Don’t ever change.

The world’s going to try kicking you down if it hasn’t already. Honestly, it was all I could do to not leap up and join you at the balcony railing during the symphony’s tribute to John Williams this afternoon. I didn’t, but I should have. Don’t you ever stop. You keep going, little John Williams fan, and never let anything anyone says to you change who you are.

Your biggest fan, Tom

Open letter to the Phoenix Symphony:

First of all, your Star Wars show several months ago was amazing. We will be coming back next time with our son. Today, your John Williams tribute performance made me my wife wipe tears from her face. (Okay, maybe things got a little blurry for me during E.T. And Jurassic Park. And Jaws. And Raiders. And Close Encounters. But I digress…)

The real highlight, the thing that will forever mark the Phoenix Symphony as a state treasure, came after the show was over and most of the audience had cleared out:

The aforementioned little boy was approached by the first chair violinist (apologies, as I may be wrong about her title and instrument; I’m under-educated in all the titles and instruments in a symphony). In any case, she came to the lip of the stage and talked with that little boy for several minutes. She then went backstage and returned with conductor Stuart Chafetz, who did not hesitate to bring the kid onstage with them both. Several people gathered to take photos, including myself from up on the balcony. I believe we could see his smile from up there.

That was a class act, through and through. Neither of those musicians had to come back out and talk to that kid. But his joy during the music was apparent; he just threw those little hands around like a pro during The Imperial March and the Raiders of the Lost Ark encore. Even from our remote seats, it was clear that he, the conductor, the violinist, and the family were thrilled and delighted to have a moment together appreciating each other.

Thank you for a wonderful show, and a touching moment of humanity and grace. We will be returning to the symphony soon and will be gladly contributing to the organization (which I hope the rest of you will consider doing here.)

Thank you so much.

Sincerely, Tom Leveen

Then there was the ride home, in which my always-brilliant wife pointed out that we are all someone’s rock star.

John Williams will never meet that little boy in the front row, and we might never know what impact today’s symphony had on him. But we all “geek out” over something, Joy said. Maybe it’s the music of John Williams, maybe it’s comic books, maybe it’s video games…or maybe it’s Larry Fitzgerald or Carl Sagan or Neil deGrasse Tyson or Maya Angelou or who knows! There are so many people out there that we look up to, people who inspire us, and who ultimately keep the world moving and changing and growing by sharing their talent with us. They give rise to the next group of creators and thinkers and athletes who propel us toward the best humanity can be.

God knows we need a little of that, yeah?

Coming so soon after the close of a rough year for myself and my family, this short little moment in time in which a conductor came out to shake hands and say hi to a thoroughly delighted fan reminded me why I keep trying to publish books, why I got a little breathless when I first met Laurie Halse Anderson and Judy Blume and dozens of authors and actors and celebrities. They are my rock stars. And if I’m someone’s rock star, may I always come out and shake hands and say Hello and thank you for enjoying the show.

I’ve seen some great people at Phoenix ComiCon; Edward James Olmos, James Marsters, Ron Perlman, Cary Elwes, and Amber Benson top the list for sure. They were kind, or fun, or cool, or all three, and usually something more. Joy and I tried at these short meetings to emphasize how much their work has meant to us, and they took our thanks with poise and grace. That’s what real rock stars do. I hope I can be one like they are.

But I think Joy is right, we are all someone’s rock star. We don’t need to be a “public figure” to be one. Our two high school drama teachers that my friends and I love so dearly are our rock stars. So are several booksellers, several agents, several editors, several musicians, several doctors.

I don’t know the name of the woman who met that little boy at the edge of the stage this afternoon.

But I know she’s a rock star.

P.S. To whatever caregivers were responsible for this little boy? A+, friends. You are raising that kid right. And for that, you are rock stars, too.