Daughter #2 turned Sweet 16 last week. As part of her present I took her and two of her friends to a concert in Boston.
Now remember, we live on Martha's Vineyard, an island. And it was a school night. The concert tickets were for general seating, meaning we had to be there way before the door opened to get a good place on line.
I picked the girls up early from school to catch the boat and then drove to Boston in just under two hours. They would be late to school by 45 minutes the next day since the boats stop running by 9:30 pm and we were staying the night at a hotel in Falmouth.
On the one hand, this makes the whole thing that much more of an adventure. On the other hand, it's a flipping pain in the ass.
We stood in line outside the House of Blues in Boston for two hours, securing the girls a lovely spot in the area right in front of the stage. Then I wedged my way out of this mosh pit to lean on a railing further back at the edge of the room.
That's right, I leaned against a railing. There was not a chair to be found. Anywhere.
The House of Blues is a very cool space. A big stage with a large dance floor downstairs, surrounded by two upper level balconies on three sides. These were overflowing with shrilly screaming teeny boppers. But no chairs.
Parents wandered about aimlessly. A few tried to sit on the floor or against the wall but were quickly thwarted by bouncers in red shirts. Other parents found their way to one of the bars figuring, I'm assuming, that if they couldn't rest their weary butts, at least they could drown their sorrows.
I had half a mind to rally the bunch of us and organize some sort of coup. I imagined us overpowering the management, demanding they provide some succor for the over-40 set to rest our varicosed legs.
Did they not realize the medical consequences they were imposing on us from standing so long, the effect on our feet, our legs, our compromised aging circulatory systems?
The concert went on for hours. There were five bands. Five.
Daughter #2 and her friends had been swallowed up by the crowd packed in front of the stage where, between sets, large burly bouncers trickled water into their upturned mouths like they were baby birds being fed worms by their parents. The occasional texts she sent me were the only proof I had that she was still alive.
Leaning against the railing beside me, a young couple made out passionately the entire time. Sure, I could've moved, but that choice spot to lean my aching back against was too rare and valuable a piece of real estate for me to recklessly abandon.
When finally the last band left the stage and the lights came back up, Daughter #2 emerged from the crowd and threw herself at me. "You're the most wonderful mother in the whole world," she exclaimed. "This is the best night of my whole life."
I knew how cranky she'd be by the time I dropped her off at school the next day. How short lived would be my glory.
But my legs were so tired dammit, my ass crying out for a chair. So I decided to go for it, accept the compliment. And, for one brief shining moment, I really was the best mother in the whole wide world.
Congratulations to Lisa at -Privilege, the winner of my give-away and Aidan's book, Life After Yes. Thank you to everyone who left a comment.








