The sticky humidity enveloped us as I stood with my children, eagerly awaiting the band to take the stage. We were at a family-friendly music festival, and I was thrilled to see a cover band I had loved since my college days. Not only was I excited to relive those moments, but I was also eager for my kids to experience the joy of live music from a band I knew would deliver. At 10 and 13, they were the ideal ages to join my husband and me in downtown as we met friends for the concert. Plus, they had yet to witness “concert Mom” in action, and I was ready to show them.
As I felt beads of sweat trickle down my back and the crowd surged forward toward the stage, I reflected on how long I had anticipated a night like this. Gone were the days of strollers, strict naptimes, and packing baby food. My husband and I finally had the freedom to enjoy an evening out with our kids, and it felt liberating. I glanced at my son, whose teenage acne did little to hide his excitement, and then at my daughter, bubbling over with enthusiasm despite being blocked from view by taller concertgoers.
When the band started playing, my children were captivated, especially my daughter. I attempted to lift her up for a better view, but the tightly packed crowd made it nearly impossible. However, I spotted a small gap near the front of the stage—perfect for my petite 10-year-old to see the performance up close. We slowly made our way forward, and once we reached the front, I let her slip in while I stayed a couple of people back to be courteous to the other fans. The stage lights danced on her hair, highlighting her joy.
Her face lit up when the lead singer acknowledged her, and she watched the drummer with sparkling eyes. Just as I aimed to capture this moment with a photo, a woman suddenly thrust her hand in front of my phone. “Is that your little girl?” she shouted above the music. When I confirmed, the woman berated me, yelling that my daughter was disturbing her. “This is no place for a child!” she fumed. “I didn’t come here with my grown kids to have my night ruined by your little kid!”
I stood there, stunned and taken aback, as the sounds of Bon Jovi faded into the background. To avoid escalating the situation, I quickly pulled my daughter back to where my husband and son were waiting. For the remainder of the night, I seethed at the woman’s rudeness and her complete lack of understanding for a child’s excitement.
When you have older children, it’s easy to forget the challenges of raising little ones. The days of diapers and strollers feel like a distant memory, and I’m often reminded of how far we’ve come over the past 13 years. While I secretly rejoice in not being the mom dealing with a tantrum in aisle four, I made a promise long ago to always show compassion to mothers with young children who are struggling.
I will always allow a mother with a toddler and a newborn to use the bathroom stall before me. I can wait. A 3-year-old cannot.
I will always offer assistance to a mom trying to load her car or hold her infant while managing a tantrum from her toddler. I’ll look into her weary eyes and say, “I’ve been there.”
I will always be available to help friends with young children make it to appointments alone. No one wants a 2-year-old peering in during a gynecological exam.
I will always keep a stash of juice boxes and goldfish crackers for that mom friend who forgot her diaper bag because life is just that hectic. Sorry, but I can’t provide a high chair.
I will always remember my encounter with that angry older mother who had clearly forgotten that her college-aged kids were once 10-year-olds who struggled to see over a crowd.
And when I eventually find myself as the older mom at a concert, I will be the first to lift a child onto my shoulders so they can see the band up close.
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In conclusion, navigating the journey of parenting young kids can be challenging, but those experiences shape us as individuals. It’s essential to remember where we came from and extend kindness to those who are currently in the thick of it.