I have lots of wonderful memories with my parents. Tons of them as a young child, but as I ended middle school and headed into high school there are fewer of them. It’s not their fault, of course. I wanted to hang out with my friends (and boys!) more than family. But I do remember one time specifically. My dad took me and a friend to see, wait for it…New Kids on the Block. Yep. Good old NKOTB. In Milwaukee. So to set the scene, my dad, not a pop music fan in any era, drove two hours to the “big city”, waited in downtown Milwaukee for hours during the concert, let us play NKOTB cassette tapes during the drive there and back, listened to us singing and retelling how super fantastic the concert was, and then after getting lost in a not great neighborhood for a fearfully long time, drove us home as we slept in the car.
I will never forget that night. Or the car (1984 blue Escort). Screaming at the top of my lungs, wishing I could be closer to the stage so they would notice me, trying to think of ways to get backstage, just being happy. It was every tween’s dream come true. I didn’t know then what a personal sacrifice my dad made. One of many, I know now. I also know that if we have the opportunity and resources and a 12-year-old P wants to see the next One Direction, we’ll take him.
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