My teenaged daughter Margo has managed to move acquiring concert tickets to the pinnacle of household concerns. Everyone in Margo’s familial orbit is required to sign on for a chance at the coveted pre-sale codes. Naturally, we attribute the expenses to birthday and Christmas gifts to cope with our questionable financial priorities. You can call it bad parenting if you want but when it is Tickets or Die, I’m choosing Tickets.
Margo’s Aunt Kara and cousin Dennis both came through for the Olivia Rodrigo show at State Farm arena so reflexively we bought the max of four tickets per code. Margo’s friends Bea, Kate and Emma were definitely IN. Kristen was away for a work conference and these girls are on the cusp of not even allowing a chaperone to come along, but we were about to find out how awkward it would be for a 52-year-old man go to an Olivia Rodrigo concert.
I was pleased to find a small sliver of the attendees shared my demographic. A few were sporting t-shirts that read “it’s a dad idea right?” which is a play on Rodrigo’s hit song, bad idea right? Some of her songs hit the right level of pop-punk nostalgia for our sub-genre and smartly, Rodrigo leans into this fan segment with a bit of wink. After all it’s not the teens and tweens paying for these tickets. As a bonus and unlike any basketball game at State Farm Arena, we dads had a fleet of available bathroom urinals to choose from.
We sold the remaining three tickets to our friends at face value because that is proper ticket hoarding etiquette. Margo and crew were over one section and down a few rows. They were easy enough to keep an eye on although it was such a wholesome crowd I had nary a worry. I sat with my friend who had two younger kids in tow and they were absolutely awestruck. Everyone seemed to be glowing. Margo, her friends, these two little girls, everyone in the place really.
After five or six songs and out of nowhere it seemed, one of the little girls wasn’t feeling well and they had to leave. I felt terrible for them. Not so long ago, we had days and events like that too. It was a shame because by this point I realized Olivia Rodrigo is a bona fide rock star.
But now I found myself, a 52-year-old man, sitting alone at an Olivia Rodrigo concert. To my right were the only empty seats in that entire arena. Should I move over? Sit in the middle? I decided to stay where I was, so it might appear that I was with the mom/daughter team to my left. Of course, to them, I imagine it looked as if my wife and children went home but I decided to stay. Also, it would seem I bought not one, but four posters of the 21-year-old pop star from the merch truck. Totally normal.
Do I explain it all to them? Do they care? Oh wait—is Olivia Rodrigo floating out over the crowd on a crescent moon? Did she just wave directly at Margo? I’m freaking out! By this point the arena was teeming with a collective girl-power energy and positivity and I was fully swept up in it. The whole awkward evening was like a balm for the soul of this old chaperone with four seats to himself.
To make myself feel useful, I took the girls to Waffle House after the show. Their phones were down, they were engaged and engaging, genuine and funny. They were starting high school in a week and it was evident how much they support each other. As I finished my two-egg special it seemed clearer than ever that anyone betting against women and girls anytime soon really ought to re-think that. Not only are they missing the mark, they’re missing out.
