Friday, October 19, 2007
For the second time in five months, I took my fifteen year old daughter and her friend to a Fall Out Boy concert, this time at Ohio State. It was a memorable (and late) night. Having learned last time that Dads, daughters, and mosh pits do not mix, I came prepared this time with work and my Treo. A friend had gotten us spectacular tickets and passes to meet the band, who were incredibly generous and friendly to the awestruck girls. After escorting the girls to their seats, I left the arena and whiled away the hours at a nearby sports bar working, nursing a glass of wine, and silently rooting on my Red Sox in the midst of burly OSU Indians fans. The best part of the evening was meeting my daughter in the concourse after the concert, seeing the kind of unbridled joy in her face that is common when kids are younger but that the world chips away as they get older. There are few things in life sweeter than driving home late at night with your teenage daughter sprawled out beside you sleeping, reminiscent of those days not so long ago when she would sleep in the car strapped into her infant, child, and booster seats.