As a hermetic home schooling parent of an almost 16 year old daughter living in a somewhat isolated mountain retirement community I sometimes find myself going to questionable lengths to provide her with social “opportunities”. Last night as I sat trying to disappear into a wall, I was surrounded by a hundred or more drunken, head banging, slam dancing, high schoolers flailing spastically to what I can only describe as deafening percussion abuse. I had to remind myself that this little outing was my idea. Zoe and I had plans for dinner and a movie when I saw a poster reading “Wyoming Punk meets Colorado Heavy Metal (all ages welcome!)” and I thought this might be an opportunity for her to meet people her own age. But who in their right mind willingly escorts their 15 year old daughter to a squalid rave??? When we first got there I planted myself next to the only open window in the place hoping to locate air amidst the impenetrable smoke. Taking it all in, I rejected all common sense to get the hell out of there. A little meditative centering while reminding myself to be open minded and non-judgmental brought me around to see how funny it all was. My mind flip-flopped between “she'll chalk this up to life experience” and “what am I going to do as one of the only adults here when the police bust the doors down”? Then I reminded myself that there were a couple of other potential chaperones. There was the middle aged, pot-bellied, drunk guy in the Harley t-shirt and tiny revealing cut-offs who was trying to pick me up. And the 80 year old dude wearing an exhaust mask that I imagine was grandpa to someone in the band based on his persistence with the digital camera. Plus there was the big bald dude wearing the security t-shirt, surely he was over 18. Once I'd convinced myself that just showing up to such an event did not make everything that was going on “my” responsibility, I started to worry about what I was going to do when the floor of caved in. I quickly decided that as long as I clung to the window ledge I'd be okay before realizing that Zoe was mingling 50 feet away. I never did figure out how I was going to fly over, snatch her up and get back to that window before we were all buried in rubble.
The longer we stayed the more amused I became. These were the very kids I was terrified of in high school. The very ones who taught me to disappear into walls in the first place. When they walked by my locker or entered the bathroom I became invisible. And here I was 30 years later as if time didn't exist. I had to wonder if Zoe was as taken aback by them as I would have been at her age but she seemed okay. When we got home she wrote on her blog:
i smell like an ashtray
local wyoming band performances sure are...
i don’t know what they are but they aren’t something i want
to see again.
i have a headache.
We left after the first band, no more “socialized” than when we arrived.
Oh well, community college starts in January. If nothing else, it should be quieter. :)
