When I was a tweenager, my father’s sister lived in an apartment complex.  We often visited so that we could play with her children, or babysit for her so she could go out with her new husband.  There was a playground of sorts outside, with many buildings in the complex, and so many people.  This was a drastic juxtaposition to the 30 acre wood just thirty minutes away, and I was fascinated.  I know as adults, we may not want to live cramped up with other adults, listening to the households that share a wall, or never knowing if we’ll find parking near our front door.  As a child, whose loved ones were scattered across many miles and hours of driving, that living in a big apartment building like this would solve all of my anxiety.  What if we could all live in a building like this?  Their own spaces, but I could easily visit any of them?  I’m sure many children with similar split families have experienced these types of wishes.  

One year I was given a birthday present.  My birthday is in September, so it couldn’t have been during the schoolweek.  The timing may not have actually been anywhere near my birthday.  I remember sitting on the carpet floor of the living room, with daylight coming in through the window.  My aunt had a video camera pointed at me (technology of the ancients) and awaited my reaction with giddy anticipation.  I knew I had to perform perfectly, since this was going to be reviewed and on my permanent record for the entirety of my life.  

My father handed me an envelope.  With some trepidation and anticipation, I carefully opened the envelope… Inside were two concert tickets (!).  I had never been to a concert before!  I screamed with joy, and made sure my smile was tremendous.  The artist was Billy Joel and the performance was to be in a few months.  I’m certain that my father received the tickets from work, likely at no charge, but he was taking me to my first concert and I was thrilled.  I was terrible with names though; who was Billy Joel anyway?  So I studied a little and realized that I knew a few of his hits, and that I enjoyed the lyrics.  It may have been an exaggerated performance for the sake of the camera and my father’s ego, but I was happy to be going to the concert with him.

The event was about an hour away, and thankfully traffic wasn’t terrible.  The months were colder now, and the days shorter; it was dark when we arrived to the parking garage.  Not being all that exposed to cities, meant that I didn’t have a lot of experience with parking garages and I was instantly lost as we spiraled up the ramp.  Father was not going to be buying me any souvenirs or concessions, the concert was a treat enough and I shouldn’t ask for anything more.  I held his hand while we made our way around the perimeter searching for our seats, certain I would be lost and left if I let go.

The seats were at a good angle, where I could see the stage easily.  We were high enough up that the people in front of me couldn’t block my view, but not so high that I needed binoculars.  The music was loud, but once my ears adjusted it didn’t bother me.  I was so happy to be spending this time with my father, listening to the music and swaying in my seat.  At intermission, my father turned to me and said, “we’ll leave after three more songs, I don’t want to get stuck in traffic”.  I was crestfallen.  Billy Joel hadn’t played my favorite song yet!  Maybe he would play it before we had to leave… I tried to remain hopeful, and I knew that arguing was pointless.  If we got stuck in traffic later because I didn’t want to leave, the ride back would be stewing in guilt and feeling the disappointment radiating from my father.  So I didn’t ask to stay.  I obediently took his hand and returned to the car before I heard “Pianoman”.  The only thing I was allowed to be is grateful, profusely thanking my father for trusting me enough to be a mature spectator at the show.  I may have shared my disappointment with my mother later, but I’m certain she would have told me to be grateful he took me at all.  

I didn’t see until much later that this was an opportunity for me to just be myself.  This signaled that nothing I did or said would have any impact on the reaction of my elders.  They would always act from their own lens, and their own perspective.  They would not see my perspective or my experience.  They never did.  As a child, I only saw that I wasn’t good enough to deserve what I wanted.  I should be thankful for every scrap I am handed, and never inconvenience the adults with my own desires.  Maybe someday, if I was good enough, I could have the life I wanted- but only if I was good enough.