We kind of are, you know.
I mean, if you saw what kind of fabulously stylish yoga pants I wear every day, you would just plotz. I clearly belong in the pages of Vogue. Or InStyle. Or Good Housekeeping. Or Parade Magazine. Or something.
We went to The Beach Boys concert in Boston this past week. [Note: you're supposed to capitalize the "The." True story.] My dad came up for a visit and this was his birthday present, taking him and our daughter to the concert. Backstory: my parents took me to see The Beach Boys every year since I was about 5. Even after the number of original band members dwindled, and even when they took on John Stamos for a few fateful summers (Uncle Jesse...um, NO), we were there to see it. I stopped going when I was about 21, and I was at peace with that decision.
But this year, it was the 50th Anniversary tour. And Brian Wilson was there, and performing, with all the rest. Sure, Dennis and Carl were only there via giant-screen accompanied by their brother/cousin/friends (think Natalie Cole and her father, only less grating), but wow, it was something. They sounded great, the weather was lovely, the Bank of America pavilion was a fantastic venue right on the water, and I could drink from a giant can of PBR while at the same time eating some Ben & Jerry's.
And my almost 6 year old loved it. Did she know all of the lyrics like I did when I was her age? No. But did she dance with me and my dad? Yes. And I got to rock out to the music of my childhood with my father again, and that was really special.
Although separated by 30 years, my daughter and I now have the same answer to the question, "What was your first concert?"
It made me feel all circle-of-life-y. (Did I really just quote Tim Rice there? Bah.)
