A few years ago, way back in 2015, I began to hear about a new, hit, Broadway musical called Hamilton. I am familiar with Alexander Hamilton as I have seen ten-dollar bills, plus I remember from American history that he was a part of the founding of our country. There was something about a duel with Aaron Burr, and also, he was the first Secretary of the Treasury. So, you can see, I’m somewhat of an expert.

Since I am on Facebook, I was privy to several friends’ posts which revealed that they were desperate to see this musical. Some even flew clear across country just to see the show. I marvel at that kind of commitment.

I like Broadway shows. I like musicals. I thought to myself, maybe someday Bob and I will see this show.

We have a daughter, Dena, who loves, loves, loves this musical – even though she had not seen, seen, seen it. When I visited her last year, she exposed me to the music. I was not surprised to learn that she and her daughters were fluent in Hamilton. They knew all the words. I mean really knew them. Dena could stand in for any of the actors. (If any of you are reading this, contact me to contact her. You won’t be sorry.)

What did surprise me was that Hamilton is largely a rap. Of course, we have no recordings from that many score years ago, but I am reasonably certain that a group of men who wrote the letter “S” to look like an “F” did not use rap for anything but their Virginia tobacco, and that one starts with a W.

Still, even though I am not a fan of that musical medium, I enjoyed the quick banter and musical story enough to overlook it. Dare I say, I even enjoyed listening to the sound track. Okay, I will. I enjoyed it.

This brings us to December when the Dr. Phillips Center in Orlando began selling tickets for Hamilton. Bob and I decided to try to get them for each other for a Christmas present. When I say try, I mean that. It took hours waiting in a cyber line for Bob to procure the tickets. Five hours. Each person was allowed to purchase four, so we gave the other two to Dena and her husband for Christmas.

Meanwhile, Bob thought he, too, should listen to the soundtrack so he could begin to familiarize himself with it. Oh, I wish you could have seen the expression on his face when he looked at me and said, “Wait a minute. This is a rap? Is the whole thing a rap?”

The man who waited patiently to buy those tickets was unaware that this would subject him to hours of rap music, albeit historical rap music.

So, the four of us we went to see the show. It was excellent, as rap musicals go. We quite enjoyed it, and somehow Dena restrained herself from singing along – quite the self-control!

The next day, Dena’s friend, Praise, called to talk to her and I managed to grab the phone unbeknownst to Dena. Praise has been like another daughter to me, so I enjoyed a few minutes of impersonating Dena before I let on to her that it was me. Then she asked me how Hamilton was.

I told her we liked it fine and that Bob was surprised to discover it was a rap. She couldn’t believe that he didn’t know that prior to buying tickets. She was somewhat appalled and lovingly told me that we didn’t even deserve to go to the show.

That is the passion that this musical brings out of people. Plus, Praise had to get back at me for impersonating Dena. I guess we’re even, but not truly even. We got to see the show.