Back in the 80’s, I was a very typical teenaged girl, music-wise: I was completely over-the-moon about the (Second) British Invasion, especially the music groups involved, and especially Duran Duran. In fact, two years ago I wrote a whole post about my love for “D-squared”, and it covered the white-hot intensity of my obsession pretty well. (Click here to check it out; you won’t regret it.) Unfortunately, I never got to see them perform live.
Fast forward to October of 2011.
Duran Duran is touring, and yesterday I had to turn down free tickets to see them.
The tragic nature of that statement alone is beyond description.
I have another obligation the night of the concert, and it has to do with a good friend of mine. When all is said and done, my relationships are much (MUCH!) more important than free tickets, even free tickets to a Duran Duran concert.
That said, this was the nightmare of my 16-year-old self.
This ordeal (and by “ordeal”, I mean “blip on the radar of my adulthood, really, but please allow me this moment of drama”) actually feels just as bad as the real-life nightmare of my 17-year-old self, when someone who worked with my dad offered me a ticket to see Prince on his “Purple Rain” tour that same night in a town that was a couple of hours away, and as I was excitedly picking out my concert clothing I got the call from my dad that this woman had just realized she didn’t have room in her car for me.
So this is a little like that.
When I found out I wouldn’t be able to attend, I felt nauseated. I was heartbroken. Okay, mostly nauseated.
Then things got a little worse. J came home from school and, sensing a bit of distress, said, “What’s wrong?”
I said, “I JUST HAD TO TURN DOWN FREE TICKETS TO SEE DURAN DURAN IN CONCERT!”
He responded, “Oh, that sucks. So anyway…” And then he proceeded to tell me something about his day.
“No no no!” I said. “You don’t understand how big of a deal this is!!! When I was your age, this would have been my WORST NIGHTMARE.”
J stood there, quietly staring at me.
I continued. “I mean, do you get it? MY WORST NIGHTMARE. DURAN DURAN. I finally got the chance to see them and cannot! GAHHHHHH!”
He didn’t say a word for a minute as he fixed an after school snack for himself, and then after an amount of silent time he deemed appropriate enough, he tried to change the subject again, but I wasn’t having it.
“You know, my 16-year-old self is really mad at your 16-year-old self for your lack of concern.”
“I just don’t see the big deal, Mom.”
I sputtered. “Wha? Wha???? You don’t see the big deal? I am obviously very upset about this. Well,” I said, “I just hope that you have developed self-soothing skills, because the next time you are upset about something, you’re gonna need them.”
(What, too much?)
“Ouch,” he said nonchalantly, thoroughly enjoying his snack.
I flopped onto the couch, muttering, “You don’t understand me.”
His chin dropped to the floor. The role reversal was amazing, and I’m happy to report that, after giving him two straight hours of mom guilt over his lack of empathy, his sensitivity chip has rebooted and he is back to being the loving, kind, caring young man I know so well.
He *might* even have a greater appreciation of Duran Duran.
Who am I kidding? Never mind.