If you read my last blog, you must be wondering how the Justin Bieber concert was. Great. He is adorable, knows exactly what all the girls (yes, the audience was predominantly female, except for a few earplug wearing fathers) want to see. He has the pouty, innocent look down pat and exposes just enough of his toned abs to get the girls to swoon. Enough said, because in reality, my true opinion of the concert is both unimportant and a disgrace to my daughter’s more significant assessment.
The more unprecedented out-take on the evening was that although my 14 year old wanted to know why I was going with, rather than dropping her off; I went. Did I really have any desire to jeopardize my hearing by the outcries of wailing girls or bemoan her outfit choices? Not really. I did, however, cherish the fact that although I tried to give her space to enjoy the night with her friend, I was able to watch her dance and sing every song. Through muted ears (earplugs) I listened to Justin sing Believe and my daughter’s eyes got teary, her smile radiated and I knew it happened again (third time, as I have two older children) – an unforgettable moment had been made.
We, as parents, can bemoan these flashes of time or we can embrace them. As much as I wouldn’t mind a little coddling from my fellow whiners about how fast life seems to go once you have kids, the look on my daughter’s face that night screamed joy and a lump formed in my throat that I couldn’t deny. I thought of the days when I had a box full of pictures of David Cassidy and the glorious feeling I had each time David sang I Think I Love You. I am certain I was as serious about my star crush as she about JB, but more importantly, I recognize wholeheartedly that those feelings are some of the really good stuff that life has to offer. While some of us may complain that our teens seem more interested in their friends; I have learned to embrace the fact that not only is that normal stuff, but it is also the stuff that memories are made of – the good kind. The kind that later in life, when her own child is crazed and fixated on some intangible vice, she will realize how happy that child is and with a little luck that same lump will form in her throat for the same reason that watching her bop to JB’s (interpretation of) music made me kvell (Yiddish for gush with joy; extraordinarily pleased). Living vicariously through our kids is the icing on the cake.
So, how was the Justin Bieber concert? I can only surmise, because while my daughter couldn’t take her eyes off of him, I can’t discharge the spell she has on me. The fact that she became the ultimate paparazzi when he removed his shirt (but so did girls as young as five) is a whole other topic that for today, I would rather not think about. I am still basking in the delight of my little girl’s bliss.