Friday, June 08, 2001

Some enchanted evening

A rite of passage is coming up for us this summer: My daughter has tickets to her first rock concert.

Well. Rock concert is a little strong. She's going to see pop pipsqueak Aaron Carter along with a group called A*Teens, four young Swedes who cover ABBA songs. Woodstock it ain't.

But she's going to hear her first excessively amplified music, stand in her first screaming crowd, and dance for the first time amongst strangers. And of course, I'll be there with her.

I was sure she'd be thrilled with the idea of going, since she's recently declared that she loves Aaron Carter and wants to marry him. When I mentioned that my co-worker and her daughters were going and we were going to go along, my girl had two requests: She wanted to sit in the front row, and she wanted to go backstage afterward. I had to break the bad news that she was not, after all, adopted by Rosie O'Donnell.

No, we'll be standing on the grassy lawn way, way behind the seats, way up to where it could be any blond child lip-synching to Aaron Carter tunes instead of Aaron himself. This is an appropriate spot for a first concert. If she doesn't like it, we're not out a lot of money. Honey, I'm not springing $75 for NSYNC tickets until I know you can make it through a show.

She finally allowed as how it would be cool to at least be in the same general vicinity as young Mr. Carter, and listening to his music, and jumping around. Then she wanted to know if it was this weekend, and was aghast when I told her it wasn't until August.

"August?" she declared in disgust and confusion. "August? Then why are you telling me now?"

To an 11-year-old, I know, August seems a lifetime away. To her geriatric Mama, though, I'll tell you, just two months to an evening of "I Want Candy" sounds entirely, entirely too soon.

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