Going to a Concert with Your Teenage Daughter: A Heartfelt Adventure

home insemination Kit

It was late spring in 2008, and my daughter Emma and I found ourselves on the west coast, enjoying a few days at a pop culture conference in San Francisco. She was nearly 14, standing on the cusp of her teenage years, where growing up feels like a whirlwind and no one, especially her, can quite grasp it all yet.

In a bid for independence, I decided to let her borrow my cell phone for the trip. Little did I know, this would soon become a point of contention. Since we had decided she wasn’t ready for her own, I was clearly the villain in her quest for teen autonomy. Emma skillfully tucked my phone into the back pocket of her ultra-skinny jeans, adeptly texting while walking without a single bump into anyone or anything, and I couldn’t help but admire her dexterity.

My wife and I had hoped this getaway would be a distraction from her friends, but I was starting to feel a connection with Emma. She listened intently as I presented my paper on comic book golems, and for a full 18 minutes, I didn’t catch her thumbs moving on the screen.

Afterward, we grabbed coffee and hopped on a trolley to City Lights Bookstore. I shared stories about the Beats and introduced her to “Howl,” which I then bought for her. Our next stop was a bar and grill near Fisherman’s Wharf, where I let her try a sip of my beer. We both enjoyed a light buzz, laughing as we shared stories about folks we knew, and I wondered if this perfect moment could extend beyond this evening.

We then strolled into the Virgin Megastore, searching for the Bloc Party record I’d heard about. As we rummaged through the bins, I noticed she had her phone out again. What was she texting? About me? About our time together? I was curious, but I didn’t pry. “You should get that record,” she suggested, and I bought it, hoping it might somehow bridge our generational gap.

On our last night in the city, I scored tickets to the Fillmore West, a legendary venue I had dreamed of visiting since the ’70s days of Santana and Hendrix. The Black Crowes were playing, and it felt surreal to be there, thousands of miles from home, watching a band from our area.

Upon entering, I chatted with a bouncer, sharing my excitement about this musical pilgrimage. He pointed out the iconic spots where legends once stood, and I hoped Emma would appreciate even a fraction of its history. She quietly followed me, her phone tucked away. Was she wishing she was here with a friend instead?

As the concert began, I stood close behind Emma, shielding her from a rather animated guy next to us who lit up a joint as soon as the lights dimmed. I remembered a time long ago when I’d turned down a hit at a Jackson Browne concert, and now, faced with the same situation, Emma’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You can smoke if you want. It’s alright.”

Those words threw me off balance. I replied, “I’m good, thanks.” What would she think of me if I took a hit? Would I suddenly be seen as the cool dad or just an aging man trying to cling to youth?

As the intermission rolled around, we decided to leave, both feeling the fatigue of two East Coasters at a late show. I pondered her comment about smoking. Was it just a guess or an instinct? It made me reflect on whether I ever wanted to be the kind of dad who would smoke with his kids. I wondered what had shifted my perspective over the years.

Fast forward to a wintry Saturday night in 2014 at a Black Keys concert in Greenville, South Carolina. The unmistakable scent wafted through the air, and Emma caught my eye with a knowing smile. She stood for the entire performance, while I, having paid for seats with backs, leaned back and soaked in the music. I felt grateful she wasn’t embarrassed to be seen out with her dad, who was decidedly not a smoker and barely managed to stay awake past 11 PM.

After we drove home, I joined my wife on the sofa for a bit of Saturday Night Live, while Emma took off to meet her friends, straddling both her childhood and emerging adulthood. It struck me how our places in life were shifting—her feet in one world and mine in another.

In summary, going to a concert with your teenage daughter can be a journey of connection, laughter, and reflection. It offers opportunities to bond over shared experiences, while also facing the realities of growing up. Remember to cherish these moments, as they can deepen your relationship and create lasting memories.