When I was a long-haired teenager, going to rock concerts was among my favorite things to do (I admit it, I grew up in Wayne’s World). But my concert attendance has slipped since then – these days, I’m lucky if I see one show a year. Well, this year I decided to change that.
Shortly after my ugly surgery I saw Green Day on their American Idiot tour, and that was a great show. This weekend I’m going to a Sevendust concert, and a week from now I’ll see Wilco (I’m really looking forward to that one). And I plan to see several more before the year’s end.
But as much as I know I’ll enjoy these shows, they’ll probably pale in comparison to the time I took my son to see Rush. He was just a hair shy of five years old at the time, and we both had a blast. That was the first time I got to really share something with him that I liked, and it was great to see him enjoying it, too. Yeah, I know – he was a bit young to see a rock concert. But I figure popular culture will try to corrupt him with soulless pop songs performed by surgically-enhanced celebrities, so I might as well get him started on the right foot by taking him to a show where the musicians write their own songs and play their own instruments.