Concerts

The Everlong of Being a Kid

/ Deb / Leave a comment

It was a show that we had no business going to. My husband was building a new deck for our recently remodeled house, and his brother was in town to help. The tickets had been purchased long ago, but as deck work progressed and deadlines of rainy weather loomed, we were prepared to cancel and sell the tickets. My brother-in-law, though, urged us to go, as they would be done for the day anyway.

And so that is how we found ourselves at the Foo Fighters concert at Safeco Field, and for once I was relieved that we had reserved seats instead of GA. Still grungy and tired from a day’s work, we scurried in with just a few moments to spare.

Near the back of the floor section, some fans had moved to an open area that was less sparsely populated. My husband and I spotted her at the same time – a little girl, maybe four or five years old – and had the same thought: it reminded us of our daughter.

With her dad, this little girl was fully engaged and rocking out – dancing and doing air guitar and drums, in a way that our daughter had done so many times, both in our kitchen, and at concerts (“Quiet 13”). Other fans were walking by, and many of them came up to her, giving her a fist bump or a high five. Sometimes, they would say something to her, or to her dad.

If any of them were parents, I wondered if they said what was going through my head. What I wanted to say to that little girl was:

Remember this moment

Keep dancing

Keep your fearlessness

Her dad was filming her moves, and what I wanted to tell him was — show this video to her in about 10 years, when she needs a reminder of the fiery spirit that she has always been. And then again at 20 years, and 30, because we all need a little reminder of that, even as grownups. Except for maybe Dave Grohl. I think he’s already got it figured out.

Big Sky Gratitude

/ Deb / 2 Comments

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.