I want to tell you about my girl.

We recently dragged her all the way to Missoula for a Pearl Jam show, which was our third show in the span of a week.  With her brother out of town doing camp counselor duties, she drew the unenviable experience of a solo seven-hour road trip with her parents.  (Silver lining — at least she got the back seat to herself?)

She playfully joked about going to a concert with “old people”, and, lucky her – the town was filled with us!   She marveled about how, all over Missoula, we ran into Pearl Jam fans and had the same conversation — where are you from/did you go to the Home Shows/how long have you been a fan, etc…..   At a fan fundraiser for Jeff Ament’s Army, she was a good sport when we offered to share our table with a dad and his son (about her age), who were from Portland.   Both she and the son were understandably mortified at this arrangement, but she smiled and politely answered their questions.

I had brought along a few different Pearl Jam shirts for her to choose from, not sure if she would really wear any of them to the show.  But she did! (10 Club Analog shirt from 2016; an excellent choice).

We got in the GA line in the middle of the afternoon heat, and settled in with camp chairs, a deck of cards, and snacks.  More chatting with fellow fans….more listening to us talk with others about shows we’d been to, and telling others, “It’s her first Pearl Jam show!”   She smiled and went along with all of it, nodding politely when asked by strangers if she was excited about the show.

Hours later, we filed in to the stadium.  Although I always prefer GA, it is challenging when you are short like me.  And she is four inches shorter.  My husband and I tried to move her around for a sight line to the stage, but I know that for the majority of the show, she couldn’t see much.  Of course, she knew more songs than she realized she would.  (All of those years of music in the kitchen and in the car; how could she not?).  She danced a little bit, flashed smiles at me when she recognized a song, and raised her arms in the air along with the crowd.

At the end of the show, a woman nearby asked how old my daughter was.  She said that her daughter is a few years younger, and that she would love to bring her to a show.  Turning to my daughter, she said, “Your parents are awesome for bringing you to this show!”   My girl smiled and politely agreed, but in my head I thought — No, SHE is the awesome one.

She had put up with all of this.  Never once a complaint, or even an eye roll.  She was such a trooper about all of it.  (And did I mention that, due to a reservation mistake, our hotel room did not have a bed for her, and she slept on the floor for two nights?).

I later told my daughter how much it meant to me to see Pearl Jam with her, and how much I appreciated her being such a good sport about it.  How their music has been such a big part of my life for 27 years, and to see a show with her was beautiful and surreal for me.  I think she heard me, but I don’t know that she yet understands.

We drove to Glacier National Park after the show, and my husband flew home early, leaving us on our own for a few days.  My daughter and I went on a hike, and when we encountered a dad carrying his young daughter, we talked about how, when she was younger, all of our hikes ended that way too (including one where she begged us to keep hiking, she wanted to go ‘straight to the top’ of Mt. Rainier).   But there’s no carrying necessary for this girl anymore, at least not in the physical sense.

On the long drive back to Seattle, now in the front seat, she navigated and played DJ.  I got to hear all of her current favorite songs, with commentary on what she liked, and she brought me up to date on all current gossip about the artist.

I pretended to be offended by songs with cuss words and racy lyrics.  But the truth is, I loved every single mile.