I’ve been to a lot of concerts. A lot. The Beach Boys when I was five or six was my first. I thought that all concerts had blow up beach balls flying around and I wanted to go to as many as humanly possible. My dad took my sister Lyndsey and I to concerts all the time.
I think all along, he was hoping that one of us would get half the musical talent he had.
I was just recounting this story to some friends and to Dave over the weekend as we talked about some of the ridiculous concerts we’ve been to.
Yoko Ono, anyone? Rick Astley? Bijork? Milli Vanilli? Color Me Badd. With two Ds, people. Two.
There were amazing concerts too. Red Hot Chili Peppers, Wynton Marsalis, Sponge, Nine Inch Nails, New Kids on the Block, Dave Matthews, Prince, Michael Buble, Beck, and that is just a fraction. I can’t remember half of them. I wish I were one of those people who wrote things down for a living...
My dad took us to see Heart when I was in high school, maybe it was late junior high. He was beside himself for us to experience the Wilson sisters live. I’m pretty sure he had a crush on Nancy, more for her guitar skills than anything. Back then, we rolled our eyes a lot and sighed when he thought things were cool, but we agreed to go.
About half way through the concert, he leaned over to me and he said, “Two sisters. You and Lyndsey, that could be you.”
“Dad, Lyndsey gave up the guitar in fifth grade.” Eye roll. Eye roll. Sigh.
Here I am, writing this blog, while Ann and Nancy are performing at the Kennedy Center Honors in front of the President and Led Zeppelin. Making Robert Plant cry because they did such justice to Stairway to Heaven is about the same as belting out Somewhere Out There, dressed as a mouse, in the sixth grade talent show, right?
Hey Dad, there is always Finn and Tate...