Earlier this week, I spent a chunk of a cool summer’s
evening sitting in a dark parking lot at the Veterans’ Administration complex,
listening to the muted roar of One Direction fans singing along to their
favorite tunes. It was the fifth and final event in my daughter’s year-long
endeavor to see her favorite artists live and in person.
It started with an October road trip to Moline, IL that
included an overnight stay in an overly expensive hotel. I stayed in the room,
plugging away on revision, while Sammy and her friend sang and danced with Demi
Lovato in the arena next door. I slept on the pull-out couch while they
commandeered the king-sized sleep number bed, reliving with breathless wonder
every moment of the show.
The next stop was an arena closer to home on one of the
coldest evenings of February. Not wanting to go downtown and back twice, Scott
and I dropped the girls off near the Ariana Grande marquee, went out to dinner,
visited the auto show, and finally made our way into a pub nearby where we
waited for a text from Sam to alert us to the show’s end.
The third concert, Ed Sheeran at Summerfest, was my
favorite, partly because I was the invited guest, but more so because he was
incredible. Musical talent? Check. Engaging personality? Check. G-rated family
entertainment? Not if you listened closely to the lyrics, but hey, I’m a big believer
in free speech and raw artistic genius.
For the fourth show, we took another road trip—this time to
Tinley Park—to see 5 Seconds of Summer or 5SOS, as they’re known to fans. I was
a tag-along chauffeur, but we happened to have an extra pair of lawn seats that
didn’t sell on StubHub (due to the addition of a second show shortly after the
sell-out of the first), so I got to sweat it out with the unwashed masses on
the lawn while the girls enjoyed the ambience of reserved seats.
One Direction was the last show on the docket and, though
Sammy’s enthusiasm for their music had waned, she deemed it necessary to attend
the show on behalf of her eighth grade self, who would have given her eyeteeth
for such an opportunity. I dropped her off with a friend at the VA and watched
them walk down the path to fulfill their fandom destiny.
As I drove off, I remembered another concert, one where Sammy
was a performer and I was a member of the audience. She was a fifth grader, playing
in concert with all of the orchestra students in the district, from elementary
through high school, and I was a distracted mom who’d just received a call from
my surgeon that relayed the unsettling news that the results of my needle
biopsy were inconclusively “atypical” and would require further surgery to
confirm or negate the possibility of a breast cancer recurrence.
I sat on the hard wooden bleacher and listened to the uneven
and occasionally sour notes of newly minted violinists, grateful that I was
able to be there, praying that I would be there for many more. I couldn’t tell
you what melodies the orchestra played, but I do know that they’d never sounded
sweeter.
Since that night, I’ve been blessed with five years’ worth
of orchestral performances—enough to almost make me forget the urgency of each
event, the importance of every single moment that I’ve gotten to spend in
musical communion with my daughter. This tour of concerts—driven by Sammy’s
preferences—gave me new chances to connect with my daughter, to listen to her
nearly adult voice espousing authentic and informed opinions, and to savor each
bit of time together.
Two years from now, Sammy will be finished with high school,
perched on the edge of the nest and ready to fly. I’m perilously aware of how
easily the moments slip away—and of the concerted effort it takes to stay
present and enjoy every opportunity I have to be involved in her life.
My role in Sammy’s life is becoming more and more that of a
bystander—and that’s as it should be. Still, I’m not quite ready to take my
seat on the sideline.
I relish every opportunity she offers me to join her in the game.