Do you remember your first concert experience? I do. There are a few instances I would consider my first concert. When I was very young my dad would bring us to the Freeborn County Fair in Albert Lea. I remember he knew somebody so we went through their backyard and that was how we entered the fair. I thought that was kind of strange, even at my young age.
At that time I loved the rides and other attractions, but this year we were there for the music. Billy Ray Cyrus was playing. (He had played there years before when my sister was six years old, and she was one of the only lucky people that got to meet Billy Ray and shake his hand before the performance. She even remembers him telling her that he had a daughter about her age named Miley.)
I remember my sister and brother telling me, “You only like country music because you’re a kid. You’ll grow out of it.” I can happily report that such is not the case. But, back to the concert. We all went to the concert and to be honest I don’t remember anything about it except the ending. Not the final song, but the announcement that all the songs played that night would be on the radio.
My first concert and I don’t even remember it. I do, however, remember that ride home. Listening to the all of the songs that I thought were so awesome on the drive home felt like like I was able to experience the entire concert for a second time. Or in my memory, the only time.
A few years ago my father was on a “concert kick.” We must have went to four or five concerts from the spring of my senior year until fall (2016), the first of which was Bruce Springsteen. This is my actual first concert story, as I like to say. My dad bought four tickets, two for him and his girlfriend Pam in the seats, and two for Jessica and I on the floor.
I remember this day vividly. I was to ride with Jessica and Dad and Pam would drive separately. This is where the nightmare began. Dad dropped me off at Jessica’s and I was ready to go. Jessica was not. The concert was supposed to start at eight and I got to her house around five. We did not leave for the concert until a little after seven. We then had to get gas. Then we had to get food. We did not get on the freeway outside of Owatonna until 7:30 p.m. I, having no idea what to expect, could not even see the point in going anymore because there was no way we were going to make it to the Cities in time.
Jessica assured me that we would make it in time. I’m not sure what time we arrived, but by some stroke of magic, the concert still hadn’t started while we were looking for parking. I guess she was right; by arriving 45 minutes late we missed the traffic. The band started late. Who would have thought that Springsteen would wait just for us? (Sisterly editorial note from Jess: I knew, because I’ve been to literally dozens of concerts, including another Springsteen one in 2006 - my first “real” concert.)
I should get to the good part: the music. I have not been to a concert since that even comes close. He was amazing. I could not believe the quality and the way I felt standing there. It was incredible. I’m not sure what Jessica thought about the music because I never asked (she loves The Boss!) but it felt like we no more than got ourselves wiggled into the crowd that she had to go to the bathroom. Then she came back and got herself to where I was, but it wasn’t long before her feet started to hurt - something she’s always dealt with due to her flat feet.
We left the concert a few songs early, per Jessica’s request, and proceeded to spend nearly an hour looking for our vehicle in the parking ramp, and by the time we found it, the concert was over. My dad was shocked that we had left early, and neither he or I have stopped blaming Jessica since that day, which is rude and unfair, but we like to blame most things on Jessica.