The Concert Wasn't the Point

We took the kids to see Dave Matthews. They'll probably remember the broken door.

Photo by Vijesh Datt on Unsplash

“Why is each song like 8 minutes long?” my 10-year-old asked.

“Because that’s what Dave Matthews does,” I said. We were driving to our friend’s house, and I was giving my daughter a crash course in one of the bands that defined my teens and twenties.

“I’m just really excited about the party bus!” she said with a squeal.

She paid no attention to the violin solo in “Crush,” which I maintain is one of the best things Dave Matthews ever recorded.

A few months ago, two of my best friends, Liz and Cori, saw that Dave Matthews was coming to one of the big outdoor venues near us. We immediately decided to go, but then someone wondered if we should bring our kids—or at least our oldest kids, all fifth graders in school together.

I figured my daughter would enjoy seeing a headliner show. She’d been to a few cover bands, and she’d seen the National Symphony Orchestra, but never a “real” concert.

It didn’t matter to me that she doesn’t listen to Dave. I wanted her to have the concert experience.

Once we’d decided to bring the kids, Cori’s husband suggested renting a party bus. The logic was sound: no parking, no designated drivers, and sitting in post-concert traffic would be significantly more enjoyable.

So that's how my 10-year-old daughter ended up on a party bus, sipping sparkling water and eating sushi on the way to her first real concert.

The concert itself wasn't amazing. Dave was Dave, but I've seen him enough times over the years to know this wasn't one of the more memorable shows.

But here's what was amazing: how my daughter bounded up the endless stairs to the lawn the moment we got inside and could hear the music. How she and her friends immediately wanted to explore. How she looked with a glowstick wrapped around her head like a crown as the sun went down.

My daughter, wearing a glowstick crown and taking in her first real concert.

Despite the set list not being my favorite, it was fun to sway along to “#41” the same way I did in college. Except this time I was with friends I met through my kids, who have long since graduated from the category of “mom friends” and are now simply some of my favorite people.

Despite a decent number of kids at the show, the crowd seemed to have aged right along with Dave. Younger me, with better knees and more stamina, might have been horrified by the sea of rental lawn chairs scattered across the lawn. Current me was wondering whether we should have invested—the damned things had cupholders.

But even the people sitting in those chairs jumped to their feet as soon as Dave started playing “Crash.”

Our kids looked a little surprised. It was hard to explain that some songs are bigger than the set list.

All too soon, the concert was over, and it was time to wade back to the party bus with thousands of other people. We were relieved to find it still parked in the closest lot.

For approximately thirty seconds, everything was going according to plan.

Then our driver informed us that the sliding door would not close.

And thus the real adventure began.

No functioning door meant we couldn’t take the bus on the highway. Which is how we ended up stranded in a random parking lot while a mechanic was summoned to perform emergency party bus surgery.

Everyone was tired and ready to go home. But without a functioning door, we were stuck.

Waiting for the mechanic to work his magic

My friend Liz immediately started researching our options. Were there any diners within walking distance? Any place still open? The best we could come up with was a Buffalo Wild Wings twelve minutes away.

We were alarmingly close to turning a Dave Matthews concert into a late-night Buffalo Wild Wings adventure when the mechanic finally got the door working well enough for us to head home.

In the weeks leading up to the concert, Liz, Cori, and I had joked that the party bus was more exciting to our kids than the concert itself. But driving along back roads with a breeze coming through a half-broken door, like we were passengers in a UPS truck, wasn't how I imagined the night going.

Our kids will probably remember the broken door more than the concert.

We didn’t find a concert that our kids wanted to go to. We found a concert we wanted to go to, and we decided to bring our kids along.

But years from now, I doubt any of us will remember the set list.

We’ll remember the party bus.

We’ll remember the broken door.

And maybe my daughter will remember that before I was her mom, I was a woman who loved live music, overpriced drinks, and singing along to songs that were already old when she was born.