
Some who know me may laugh, but I will write this anyway. In my high school years I loved hard rock bands,
Motely Crue, Slaughter, Skid Row, Warrant, Cinderella, Poisin, Guns N Roses, Kiss, etc. Can it get any worse?! I am only remembering this because last night my 16 year old niece was wearing a
Motely Crue
t-shirt of all things. Boy did those guys look scary. I went to every concert that came to Salt Lake City. I met all of the bands. I even met Gene Simmons and got a great picture of his tongue. My friends and I (and they were all normal like me and hated every minute of what I was putting them through) would hang out at the back of the concert hall when they would drive in on their tour us. They would come out and take pictures and sign autographs. Now I can imagine you are
envisioning me with a short skirt on and an off the shoulder
sleeveless shirt on with rips placed just so. No, no, no, I was normal. I was the only one who didn't get frisked when we walked into concerts. People were always shocked at my choice of music.
What I will remember most about that time is this, my wall was covered with posters of these groups. I had a picture of Sebastian Bach with his long hair flowing, rocking out on his guitar bare chested. I had posters of men with makeup! These were scary looking people, I
didn't think they were scary at the time of course. I will always remember my mother not saying one word to me about it. She never told me to rip down my posters. She never worried about me going to the concerts, perhaps she thought everyone who went looked like me. She trusted me, she always trusted me. I had to drag my friends to go with me to these concerts, they did not like the music at all. But I guess they trusted me too. They were nice enough to stay friends with me even though I liked creepy looking guys.
I often wonder if my mom said nothing on purpose. I can't imagine what I would do if my daughter tried to hang a nasty looking poster on a wall in my house. I'm sure I would overreact and she would mumble something to me like, "I hate you mom!!!!" I have to thank my mother for having the courage to let me be me. I thanked her in the end by eventually taking down the posters on my own after a few years. That music scene faded for me and my love of music changed to jazz. I loved big band music, Harry
Connick Jr., Nina Simone. Come to think about it, my
father never said anything to me about it either. All of my friends liked my parents and my parents liked all of my friends, almost all of them. There were ones my mother warned me about. She has a sixth sense about people. Oh if I only would have believed her at the time, all of the misery I could have spared myself . I hope my daughter takes what I say to her with more than a grain of salt when she's older. I hope I can spare her some pain.
It's funny to drive down the road when "I Remember You" comes on by Skid Row. I will forget for a moment I'm a mother of six and a wife. I will start singing really loud bobbing my head as I gaze out of the car window. Then my kids bring me back to earth as they yell for me to change the station and ask why I know that song. My husband rolls his eyes at me, but he can't say much because one of the bands he liked when he was young was called, The Violent Femmes. I looked at him one day and said, "How on earth did your mother let you go to the conerts you went to when you were younger?" I knew his mother would never approve of groups like the Violent Femmes, The Cult, etc. He said, "Well, I never told her the names of the groups." Figures.