You Never Forget the First Time

You never forget your first time. For me, it was Chuck Mangione, a jazz performer, in a college auditorium. I was all of 8 or 9 years old. (Stay with me here, it’s not as bad as it sounds…) My first concert! Musically advanced for my age? Not really. Part of growing up with divorced parents included being my mom’s “date” for concerts and other events. (A win-win really–you get a night out, quality time with your kid, and you don’t have to pay a babysitter at the end of the night.)  I thought it was the coolest thing ever to see live music in a darkened venue, with a light show and cushy seats. I even managed to stay awake for the entire show, which is a feat for a tired grade schooler listening to smooth jazz.  There is just something special about seeing a concert in an actual theater as opposed to outdoors at a street fair or in a bookstore.

This weekend, I had the privilege to take our oldest 3 boys to their first concert at our church. We saw a great Christian rock band called Seven Glory. We had such a blast!

Thanks Seven Glory!

Thanks Seven Glory!

My second son is a bit bashful and noise sensitive. And, well, concerts are loud. He began the concert with his head in my lap, and showed no signs of wanting to reposition.  I was afraid that he might just stay there for the duration of the show. That would not do at all–we had some serious dancing to do!

But after a few songs he perked right up and started bopping around. In his seat. Don’t ask him to dance in front of a crowd of strangers! Just don’t.

Then there was my first son and my third son. They started out dancing in the crowd, the eldest still a bit self conscious, and number 3 just on the edge of shaking what his mamma gave him with wild abandon.

A few songs into their set, Seven Glory had 2 very enthusiastic fans at the edge of the stage.  A budding guitarist, my eldest was memorizing every move the lead guitarist made. My little-life-of-the-party on the other hand, was using every ounce of self control he possesses to keep from rushing the stage.

Here he is perfecting his look of innocence, trying to make me think that he isn’t at all interested in what’s going on up there, so I have no need to watch him so closely. I’d have a shot of him subtly army-crawling his way onto the stage, if not for the fact that I had to drop my phone/camera in order to pluck him off of it. It’s a good thing it was a Christian rock concert, otherwise he’s liable to have gotten roughed up by some burly security guards.

Then my BFF Julie, back from Haiti for all of 24 hours, snuggled up with him near the stage. He’s in heaven right there, singing his little heart out–he loves Julie. And yes, she always looks that stinkin’ cute.

In the end, his near patience was rewarded with a guitar pick from the lead guitarist. My eldest was thrilled to be able to talk to the band and have his CD signed after the show. And my shy second son? He was content to stand back with me and watch his younger brother get his poster signed for him.

The boys had a great time at their first “real concert.” Jules and I had a great time watching them, diggin’ the music, laughing about the concerts of our youth, and trying not to feel too old in a sea of teenagers.  We convinced ourselves that we weren’t quite old enough to be the Mamma’s of the sweeties in the band, be we are pretty sure that we could have been their babysitters.  At least that’s what we’re telling ourselves.

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