A New Experience

Early 1990s

I waited at the end of the walkway that came down the hill.   Beyond the hilltop, towards which I was looking, was the Merriweather Post Pavilion entrance where just 3 hours and 25 minutes earlier I anxiously and proudly saw my 14 and ½ year-old son and his two friends go out of sight to their first-ever rock concert – Poison.

Standing close by were two women, of similar age to me, perhaps a few years younger.  They too waited to meet and to chauffeur their daughters, contemporaries of my son and his friends.  And beyond were other parents standing or sitting in cars.

I started talking to the two women.  We spoke about our kids being there and their musical likes and dislikes.  Energizing music came through and over the hill’s tree tops.  The audience’s cries and screams seem in unison and on cue with the musician’s output.

I felt good about being there and sharing in a first with my son.  I sensed the creativity and life of the music and the excitement of the youth in experiencing the place and the music.

I learned from the mothers of the attraction of Poison on their young daughters – the guys in the group were really cool and cute.

I sensed the ladies were equally proud and happy and anxious.

It was a big evening for me because I knew it was a big evening for my son – one of his favorite groups, one of his major interests at this period of his life – listing and singing to Poison, Motley Crew, Guns and Roses, STYX, Metallica.  I was pleased that he asked me to bring him.

And then suddenly, almost to the minute that the ticket taker predicted the concert’s end, groups, individuals, young couples holding hands, single kids, started streaming down the path and towards us.

I didn’t mind a bit having not been inside with him.  Waiting, knowing he needed me, was enough.  I gladly gave up my ticket at the last minute when one of his friends decided to come.  And besides, I knew he didn’t want me in there.  After all, it was his event, his group, his friends – no place for a dad who would be checking up on him.

 I had spent an enjoyable evening after leaving them – a walk across the highway to the Mall, then beyond the lake where I ate at a good restaurant, and then the Madonna movie.  It became a full evening of the musical cultures and heroes of the young.

It worked out well.  I was out of the movie and back at Merriweather in plenty of time.

My guys appeared – beaming, rapping back and forth, lots of jargon – which becomes more confusing to me as they get older.  They seem oblivious to me standing there.

I got the expected “oh yea, it was great”, and not much more.  I didn’t care, for I knew that this was a lot at this time in their lives.  Saying certain things, especially to parents, doesn’t rate high on their agenda.

We finally got out of our back-row parking space and into the slow-moving line headed out.  My young teenagers were horsing around, occasionally yelling harmlessly at something outside the car.  They were having a great time, it was good

And then, about half way to Frederick, where I live, and the boys would be spending the night, they became quiet. They started dosing off.  Ah, now this I had seen before – oh yes, dosing off, falling asleep, carrying a young son to bed.

It was interesting – how they were changing – a new experience, at ease in a way which I had not seem before – and then suddenly, almost magically, a reversion to an earlier time, a cross-over back to a younger year.

I was beaming, inside pleased as punch, proud to be a part of it.