I took my youngest daughter to her first concert on Wednesday as an early birthday gift. She had an amazing time, and as much as I twitched at the fact that her first concert was none other than Britney Spears, I’ll admit: it wasn’t that bad.
The show itself was very theatrical. I have to give the woman some credit, it can’t be that easy to dance and sing and change clothes twelve times for two hours straight.
But, more importantly, so did my daughter. Well, without the changing clothes part. (Excepting shoes. But at least we weren’t the only ones limping and holding our shoes by the end of the night.)
She began the night the same way she ended it~


I spent more of the night watching her watch the show than I did watching it myself and I confess, I was moved to tears more than once. My girl is growing up, and shes growing up well. I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in my heart as I watched her. We started the night outside with a local radio stations promotional booth and, as you can see, my daughter danced with un-self-conscious abandon on the side of the road.

The radio station took tons of pictures of her for their website. She spoke to them articulately and when we moved to the line, shed already amassed a group of admirers. (Admittedly they were mostly in the form of young gay men)

When she was born, I was full of fear for her. At the time, I was alone, and I worried about what kind of life I would give her. Doubts and worries kept me up many a night. But seeing her now, confident and happy, smart and amazing, I’m damn proud.



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