Love Will Keep Us Together

My oldest brother emailed me today to tell me about the upcoming event he has with his son, my oldest nephew. They are going to his first concert, a Trans Siberian Orchestra in D.C. In a corporate box suite. Sweet. They should have a blast.

It is destined to be a different first concert experience than my older brother and I had. If you ask me in mixed company what my first concert was, I'd be tempted, oh so tempted, to fib. I'd be tempted to tell you that my second concert was actually my first one. When I was thirteen, two of my friends and I were dropped off at the Allentown Fairgrounds to see the fabulous Tina Turner during her Private Dancer tour, with the amazing Glenn Frey opening for her. Lemme just tell you, there is nothing like sitting on concrete, backless benches on a hot August day, ingesting diesel fuel fumes from the monster truck rally in the next field over and the glorious waft of manure from the ag show a few doors down. My dad agreed to drop us off and pick us up, a major step for he who despises crowds and traffic. And, of course, rowdy pop music fans. He is not a big fan of them. So, our newly teenage spastic selves danced and sang and marvelled at this grand fresh world now available to us. Then, on our way out to meet my dad, Steph and I lost Amy in the crowd. Amy, who was all of 4'10. My Dad was PISSED, and looking back, probably worried. We thankfully were well-trained and had planned for a snafu like this. It took her a little while to wade through the tall crowd to the spot we chose to meet if separated. But, we eventually all got home to our beds, dreaming of The Smuggler's Blues.

That is the memory I choose to hold onto as my first concert.

The reality: my brother and I have the horror of acknowledging our first concert as The Captain and Tennille. It was at the same venue, but we were accompanied by our parents. I was five, I think, and my brother was nine. Horrifying. Muskrat Love started it all. Now you all know our dirty secret. One of many.