when you're born forty years too late

May 3, 2016

Seeing the Beach Boys in concert will be a highlight of the year, and maybe even a highlight of all the many snapshot memories I've gathered over the last 26 years. Their music reminds me that life is good, and can be simple, and really, really happy; listen to some of their less popular songs like Sloop John B or Don't Worry Baby - and then tell me otherwise. Good, simple, happy.

However, it didn't take long for us to realize once we arrived that we were by farrr the youngest ones in the crowd -- I told Max at first that I secretly wished I had my parents with me so I could pretend I was there with them (______ judging space). But then that music came on. And that harmony started. And I was in heaven.

And this is where the snapshot memory comes in: Right as they finished one of their last songs, it began POURING rain (the concert was held outside!) Most people started hurrying out of their chairs, and edging toward the exit, when they began singing the one and only Barbara Ann. And then every sixty-plus something in that audience started dancing right then and there despite the pouring rain. I honestly cried. Hormones most likely, but I cried as I listened to one of my favorite songs, by one of my favorite bands, dancing in the rain along with everyone else that night. Like I said, it's just what happens when you're born forty years too late.

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