From Pink Floyd to Raffi
By Mr.e
No noticeable security. No pressing mobs. No fans smoking cigarettes and or
wacky tabaky.
No obviously drunk concert goers. No searches for contraband, such as glass
bottles. No big bouncing balls propelled to and fro by the expectant crowd
on the floor. No Frisbees. Nothing like that at all.
Just the tangible excitement and panicked scrambling for the best remaining
seats (although your ticket led to you believe that the number on it corresponded
to a seat with the same number) and certain late comers nursing the notion
that they still deserve a seat up close to the stage.
That and more strollers stashed in one area than any human should ever be
allowed to see at one time; outside some of the more monstrous chain stores.
Ultra helpful support staff take over the hassle of finding safe stroller
parking.
They convincingly wrest this bulky hindrance to carefree movement right out
of your hands while you're still moving ahead inch by inch, locked into the
endless line, shuffling along on your way to the holy grail of kid music.
The effect is a kinder and gentler valet parking system.
Toddlers who groove along to this particular household musical name literally
vibrate with anticipation. Each reference, regardless how guarded, to an upcoming
Raffi concert cranks this frenzy up another notch, toddler sized notch. CD's
by this artist at any library in the vicinity of the show are out on loan,
all of them.
Toddlers who don't even know what a concert is, utter the word as if it were
the ultimate treat. This word even eclipses 'ice-cream' and 'lollipop' in
developmental vocabulary importance. Even though these toddlers have never
even been to a concert, let alone one by such a star/saint as Raffi. And it
isn't totally inconceivable that these keyed up toddlers could have skedaddled
off to the venue days early; if only they had been able to get at the car
keys.
Once inside the hallowed concert venue (a big white tent with metal bleachers),
the reality of it all sinks in.
The first noticeable thing absent is an area for toddlers given to dance.
Once seated on the cold aluminum benches with little room for movement or
adult legs, the rules for the coming engagement are read out loud for all
to obey. All kids must remain seated (effectively ruling out any grooving
along to their favorite music by this gray-haired star of the children’s
entertainment world).
This rule was promptly broken by youngsters unable to restrain their little
bodies.
Attrition was inevitable. The show was barely an hour long. Hardly into the
third or fourth child length song, a steady parade of parents began to descend
and climb the bleachers, obeying natures demands on their offspring.
Once tightly packed bleacher benches developed bare patches and allowed a
more comfortable posture, only to be packed moments later by those watching
out for closer seats.
By the middle of the show, toddler attentions were beginning to wander, one
youngster head over heals into one of the speakers at the foot of the stage
which caused the great one himself to speak softly as he called for assistance
in removing this audio enthusiast. Any references to yawning in some of the
songs were accompanied by real yawns by many parents and as suddenly as it
began, it was all over.
No endless clapping. No encores. No lonely lighter flames flickering nostalgic
in the dimly lit tent. No shoving on the way out.
Just a few dozen dozing toddlers asleep on dad or moms shoulder. Orderly exit
techniques and then into the rain and plunging into the intimidating pile
of strollers to find your own, unaided by the likeness of hundreds of the
things, desperately looking for the personal touch or distinctive stain identifying
it as your own.