I have been to a lot of concerts, but...
Oh, the squealing.
When those five boys took the stage I thought some of the girls around me might actually pass out. They were no longer pinups on the bedroom wall - they were real, live people, singing in real life, breathing the same air as all of us. Each girl with her favorite band member, screaming just a little louder when his baby face showed up on the jumbo screen.
Yes, One Direction was here last week. But that's not where I was. I was saving my voice for what would be one of the most ridiculously incredibly fun nights of my life.
Rewind twenty-five years or so. Big sister has flown the coop and I am starting to have some freedom with the radio dial. Fluent beyond my years in Billy Joel, Bryan Adams, Madonna, Survivor, Hall & Oates, REO Speedwagon, etc., I begin branching out to see what the kids are listening to these days. I am just beginning middle school and, according to my friend base, I seem to have two choices: Hair Bands and Bubble Gum Pop. Ultimately, I would embrace both genres, but Mom wouldn't approve of Bret Michaels on my wall (and I'd have to remove Johnny Depp...) so, publicly, I gravitate toward five clean cut boys from Beantown. The collection begins with a poster or two - tear sheets from Bop! and Teen Beat. I remember looping the original cassette in my yellow Walkman Sports for hours on a trip to Williamsburg, VA. It would become one of my favorite places - maybe because I still smile when I remember getting to know Joey & Jordan's innocent pre-adolescent voices as I played Popsicle over and over again. 'Sweeter than candy...better than cake...'
I like to call it a relationship, more than an obsession. These boys didn't look like anyone I knew, they wore cool clothes, they sang fun songs, I could hear from them whenever I wanted and they would never break my dramatic little junior high heart. It was a match made in heaven. I remember planning portions of my day around the Top Five Video Countdown, knowing that if MTV was on between 5:30 and 5:55, I WOULD see the Hangin' Tough video. In time I'd own at least one t-shirt, a couple of albums, a VHS tape, some buttons and about 132 tear out posters. Looking back, I must have spent my entire allowance on pictures of Jonathan Knight and his friends, because I'm pretty sure I wasn't sneaking the teen rags into the cart at Publix for mom to buy them. I owned my little piece of the New Kids, but I would never own a concert ticket.
We matured and grew apart. We married other people, Jon came out, and life moved on. I developed crushes on appreciations for other artists, but I would never forget my first loves.
So here I am, hanging tough twenty-five years later, and what do I find in my hand but that one addition to my collection that had eluded me since seventh grade. (Not having to ask mom really expands one's opportunities.) My boys were touring again and this time the tour was not canceled, nor was I pregnant or leaving a newborn at home. Come hell or high water, I was GOING to this concert.
And I wasn't alone. My college roommate, a fellow devotee, flew in for the weekend to share in the experience. One of my best friends in town had also been patiently waiting, and so the three of us dressed like our twelve-year-old selves, dragged our husbands into a limo and headed to the show. Because when you're in your mid thirties, dressed in neon mini skirts and puffy-painted denim jackets with crimped hair, the only way to arrive at a New Kids on the Block concert is in a limo.
We took off running to our seats - as fast as you can sprint in neon flats and stretch lace - when we heard Boyz II Men had already started On Bended Knee. BOYZ - TO - FLIPPIN' - MEN, my friends. So incredible, and an emotionally manipulative way to start an already charged evening. Who in their thirties doesn't have a memory tied to It's So Hard to Say Goodbye? Who did not break up and play End of the Road over and over while crying? Who doesn't know the East Coast Family?? So we were practically crying while singing every. single. word. Ok, not practically. I'm gonna go ahead and say there were real tears.
Without skippin' a beat (see what I did there, Boyz fans?) the too-adorable-for-words Nick Lachey took the stage with his 98 Degrees buddies and heated things up a bit. We're all grown ups now, and it is South Florida and all, and so it must have been warm down there on that stage because Nick's shirt came off really early - which, again, is completely appropriate on account of the South Florida heat and did I mention it was hot? So, really, you can't blame him. I think they sang, too, but I can't be sure, because at some point during their set, I realized that ...
NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK WERE IN THE BUILDING. And not just in the building. They would be taking the stage after a brief intermission.
There was absolutely no way for us to prepare ourselves for the two hours that followed. I expected to be excited. I expected to be a little silly. I warned the husbands that there might even be some foolishness. I did not expect 2 full hours of out-of-control, completely giddy screaming laughter.
Let me tell you: When you have been waiting for twenty-five years to see your first crush in person, there is NO WAY to play it cool. Not a chance. You pretty much end up looking something like this:
For 120 minutes we were squealing twelve-year-olds again. Our five boys (now in their 40s) danced and sang their hearts out and we screamed until we were hoarse, elevating the intensity when our favorites would play to the crowd, envying the girls lucky enough to be in their personal space, declaring that this WOULD happen again for us - but that we would never forget our first time.
When those five boys took the stage I thought some of the girls around me might actually pass out. They were no longer pinups on the bedroom wall - they were real, live people, singing in real life, breathing the same air as all of us. Each girl with her favorite band member, screaming just a little louder when his baby face showed up on the jumbo screen.
Yes, One Direction was here last week. But that's not where I was. I was saving my voice for what would be one of the most ridiculously incredibly fun nights of my life.
Rewind twenty-five years or so. Big sister has flown the coop and I am starting to have some freedom with the radio dial. Fluent beyond my years in Billy Joel, Bryan Adams, Madonna, Survivor, Hall & Oates, REO Speedwagon, etc., I begin branching out to see what the kids are listening to these days. I am just beginning middle school and, according to my friend base, I seem to have two choices: Hair Bands and Bubble Gum Pop. Ultimately, I would embrace both genres, but Mom wouldn't approve of Bret Michaels on my wall (and I'd have to remove Johnny Depp...) so, publicly, I gravitate toward five clean cut boys from Beantown. The collection begins with a poster or two - tear sheets from Bop! and Teen Beat. I remember looping the original cassette in my yellow Walkman Sports for hours on a trip to Williamsburg, VA. It would become one of my favorite places - maybe because I still smile when I remember getting to know Joey & Jordan's innocent pre-adolescent voices as I played Popsicle over and over again. 'Sweeter than candy...better than cake...'
I like to call it a relationship, more than an obsession. These boys didn't look like anyone I knew, they wore cool clothes, they sang fun songs, I could hear from them whenever I wanted and they would never break my dramatic little junior high heart. It was a match made in heaven. I remember planning portions of my day around the Top Five Video Countdown, knowing that if MTV was on between 5:30 and 5:55, I WOULD see the Hangin' Tough video. In time I'd own at least one t-shirt, a couple of albums, a VHS tape, some buttons and about 132 tear out posters. Looking back, I must have spent my entire allowance on pictures of Jonathan Knight and his friends, because I'm pretty sure I wasn't sneaking the teen rags into the cart at Publix for mom to buy them. I owned my little piece of the New Kids, but I would never own a concert ticket.
 |
| Inexplicably, the Big Bopper published this attractive shot of Jon. I don't think I owned it, but it has provided many laughs during our time of preparation for this concert. |
So here I am, hanging tough twenty-five years later, and what do I find in my hand but that one addition to my collection that had eluded me since seventh grade. (Not having to ask mom really expands one's opportunities.) My boys were touring again and this time the tour was not canceled, nor was I pregnant or leaving a newborn at home. Come hell or high water, I was GOING to this concert.
 |
| That, right there, was worth waiting for |
And I wasn't alone. My college roommate, a fellow devotee, flew in for the weekend to share in the experience. One of my best friends in town had also been patiently waiting, and so the three of us dressed like our twelve-year-old selves, dragged our husbands into a limo and headed to the show. Because when you're in your mid thirties, dressed in neon mini skirts and puffy-painted denim jackets with crimped hair, the only way to arrive at a New Kids on the Block concert is in a limo.
 |
| I made that myself. |
Without skippin' a beat (see what I did there, Boyz fans?) the too-adorable-for-words Nick Lachey took the stage with his 98 Degrees buddies and heated things up a bit. We're all grown ups now, and it is South Florida and all, and so it must have been warm down there on that stage because Nick's shirt came off really early - which, again, is completely appropriate on account of the South Florida heat and did I mention it was hot? So, really, you can't blame him. I think they sang, too, but I can't be sure, because at some point during their set, I realized that ...
NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK WERE IN THE BUILDING. And not just in the building. They would be taking the stage after a brief intermission.
There was absolutely no way for us to prepare ourselves for the two hours that followed. I expected to be excited. I expected to be a little silly. I warned the husbands that there might even be some foolishness. I did not expect 2 full hours of out-of-control, completely giddy screaming laughter.
Let me tell you: When you have been waiting for twenty-five years to see your first crush in person, there is NO WAY to play it cool. Not a chance. You pretty much end up looking something like this:
For 120 minutes we were squealing twelve-year-olds again. Our five boys (now in their 40s) danced and sang their hearts out and we screamed until we were hoarse, elevating the intensity when our favorites would play to the crowd, envying the girls lucky enough to be in their personal space, declaring that this WOULD happen again for us - but that we would never forget our first time.
Comments