Harrison, our oldest son, and his girlfriend, Amelia, went to see Dave Matthews Band Saturday at a place called “Aaron’s Amphitheater.”
“Have you ever been to Aaron’s – what did they used to call it? – Lakewood?” Harrison asked.
I rolled my eyes. Jean rolled her eyes so hard I could hear them rolling around all the way across the room.
“We’ve been to Lakewood,” I said. “Last time I was at Lakewood, I saw the Allman Brothers Band.”
Jean rattled off a list of a dozen bands or more that she saw at Lakewood.
Not impressed by all the concerts we’ve seen at Lakewood, Harrison continued to tell us about the concert.
“There was a girl who was passed out on the hill,” he said.
“Yes, I remember her. She was there the last time I was at Lakewood to see the Allman Brothers,” I recalled.
“Medical staff was all around her,” Harrison said. “I was watching them, and I turned just in time to see some guy who was standing up fall flat on his face.”
Harrison stood up to show us how the guy swayed one way, then another, then fell forward. The kid left the excess of his drinking on the ground at Lakewood and the medical staff decided he’d had enough of the Dave Matthews concert. “His girlfriend was crying,” Harrison told us.
“I remember seeing them at Lakewood, too,” I said.
Harrison also received a 25-year anniversary bumper sticker, marking the 25 years Dave Matthews has been performing.
“He’s been playing music longer than you’ve been alive,” Jean pointed out to Harrison.
When we were young we used to go to concerts, but admittedly we seldom go to a concert any more. We’ve been to see the Chieftains and the Avett Brothers and the Who in the last decade, but I don’t remember any other concerts Jean and I have been to in the last ten years.
“Y’all are lame parents,” Harrison pronounced.
“Yes, we’re lame parents because we choose to feed and shelter our children rather than go to concerts,” Jean retorted.
If we’re lame parents, it’s the fault of our children. We were both super cool before we had kids. Jean was a bartender at the best bar in town. I saw the Grateful Dead year-after-year. I seriously considered dropping out of college and following the Dead. I remember that Allman Brothers concert, my buddy Jason called me that morning and said he had an extra ticket if I wanted to pile him and a couple of girls into my Mustang and drive to the show. Before we had kids, it was nothing for either of us to drop whatever we were doing and go off on an adventure.
Kids, however, bring out the lame in you.
There’s something about having responsibility over a human life that takes every bit of cool out of a person.
Now, instead of staying up late partying, we stay up late hoping our teenage sons are okay and anxiously waiting for them to get home. Now, instead of going to concerts, we listen to our 20-year-old tell us about Dave Matthews like we’ve never heard of him. And then he teases us because we’re lame.
Between us, we’ve seen countless bands. Metallica and Slayer and Blues Traveler and Red Hot Chili Peppers (who ruined Lollapalooza because they were too messed up to perform) and Drivin’ and Cryin’ and Elton John and the Who and a hundred thousand garage bands touring bars and small venues. I’ve even seen the Monkees. Three times.
And I’m the one who’s lame? Harrison’s list of concerts includes Whiz Khalifa, T.I. and Cherub. Seriously, Cherub. Check them out on Youtube. It’s hideous stuff. And he’s paid money to see them.
I’ve forgotten more concerts than Harrison has been to, and with the price of concerts these days, he can never hope to attend as many concerts as Jean has been to.
Yet here we are, thankful that he made it home safely from Lakewood, and listening to this 20-year-old who knows absolutely nothing about concerts tell us how lame we are.
To prove she’s not lame, Jean changed into Harrison’s Grateful Dead tie-dye T-shirt. He got his grandmother to buy it for him off a website. Somewhere in a plastic box in our garage I have a whole stack of Grateful Dead T-shirts. And I got every one of them at a different Dead concert. So maybe I am lame, but I have proof I wasn’t always.
Rob Peecher, the proud owner of a stack of Grateful Dead T-shirts and a slew of memories from before he was lame, is author of the book “Four Things My Wife Hates About Mornings.”
