It’s a constant source of confusion and amusement to those of us of a certain age to find that our children not only don’t loathe the music of our childhood and teen years, they positively adore it.
Our ten-year-old girl knows more ABBA lyrics than I have ever known. And while I admit to having a special place in my heart and memory for “Dancing Queen” (roller skating rink, birthday party, mirror ball lights on the polished wooden floor), I have never, ever, in my life, dressed like this:
Let alone willingly. With a huge grin.
You gotta admire her flair.
I find it actually pretty fun that Hyla and I share a love for poppy 70s songs, and we indulge in our guilty pleasure by listening to the area’s Oldies station on our drive home from school or on errands. We try to limit the 70s listening when we’re at home, though, because we take pity on poor M, who pretty much loathes the pop music of the 70s (I was jut a pre-teen back then, so no accounting for taste, but M was older, wiser, and infinitely cooler and listened to things like Jethro Tull).
So… back in December when I read that our local theater would be hosting the world-famous ABBA cover band, Bjorn Again, my first thought was, “We HAVE to get tickets to this show for Hyla!” And my second thought was, “But M’s brain will asplode if we force him to go to this concert!”
But M was surprisingly fine with the idea (probably because he knew how happy it would make Hyla), and we bought tickets for the three of us, plus one lucky friend.
The concert was a little over a week ago. The girls planned a whole evening around it, starting with playing together after school, followed by a pre-show dinner, the show itself, and then a sleep-over.
I honestly had no idea what to expect. Would it be packed with teens, or “oldies” (like us)? Would everyone be in costume (we certainly weren’t)? Would there be dancing? Would the band sound remotely like ABBA? Would we be mortified?
The band came out and started right in with a song everyone knew (of course, I can’t remember which one). Immediately I felt a bit panicked by what I’d done. How many hours of this could we take?
A few die-hard fans took to the aisles immediately, dancing in their colorful, sparkly clothes. The rest of us stayed put. Waiting for things to click.
Hyla took it all in stride right away, singing along from the first word, but T looked a bit stunned at first. Like she had no idea what what happening or why we had forced her into this situation. I kept nervously glancing over at her, afraid she would bolt for the exit, terrified by polyester, disco lights, and inane stage banter in fake Swedish accents.
And then, little by little, the sense of fun was infectious.
By the end, we were all on our feet, dancing. Hyla and T were singing all the songs, and folks were holding up their cell phones in lieu of lighters.
The next day, T’s mom asked T what she thought of the show and I was prepared for an honest-but-critical report. Instead, she (world traveler at 10, who has seen shows in London and on Broadway) said, “It was the BEST thing I’ve EVER SEEN!”