On Monday evening, Chelsea and I braved the cold and dragged our tired asses out for her last-night-in-the-city dinner at Tao. We hailed a cab on 2nd Avenue and climbed in. The driver was on the phone - as NY cabbies typically are - and he nodded as we told him our destination.

After a minute or two, we stopped at a light and he turned around to face us.

“I’m actually talking to my 8-year-old son on the phone right now. He wants to play me a song on his flute, so I was wondering if you’d mind if I put him on speakerphone for a little concert?”

“We don’t mind at all,” we said, looking curiously at each other. “Please do.”

He set the phone down. “Okay, sweetheart, go ahead.”

Silence. Then spurts of amateur chirps and short, breathy whistles. And then more. And then finally a recognizable rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

We hummed along. “How I wonder what you are…”

Silence. Then applause from the taxi audience.

“Tell them thanks for listening, Dad,” said the boy, still on speakerphone.

“We enjoyed it very much. Bravo!” we said.

“Very good, son. That was my favorite.”

It was clear that he didn’t get to see his son often. This was how they spent time together, how they stayed connected, how they had to love.

“Are you headed to bed now?”

“No. Mom’s not even home from shopping yet,” said the son.

“Well then play us another?”

More sweet chirps. More short, breathy whistles. The driver beamed. Such a precious, sad, heart-warming moment to find in a city cab…