Ms. Swift, I wasn't sure what all the fuss was about. My daughter adores you. Her friends love you. My niece has revered you and grown up with your music. She learned to play guitar through songs. Many years back, as I stood in my sister's kitchen and my niece, about 16 or 17 at the time, defended you with a fierceness fitting of a teenager to her older brother, I watched on in fascination. She was eloquent and self-assured, and I am sure she might have decked him if he had said one more disparaging word. Of course, he knew how to goad her, and his smile told me he didn't mean what he said. Or maybe he did. He was a teen at the time as well. But in any case, I saw a new side to my young niece, which was impressive. She is now 27, and your music is still speaking to her.
And that is the thing about music, isn't it? It transcends. It floats from generation to generation. It becomes a soundtrack for our lives. It brings us back to moments long gone, moving us into new memories.
When the ticket-buying frenzy for your ERAS tour began in November, my girlfriend's husband spent hours getting us tickets. I didn't hold out much hope that it would happen after listening to the radio that morning. Still, before dinner, I got the call and became nearly apoplectic when she told me the cost. At this point, though, there was no going back. I told my 13-year-old I would take her to see Taylor Swift if we got tickets, and tickets we had!
As stunned as I was, my daughter was jubilant. Plans began in earnest- what to wear and when we would leave Connecticut to get to Gillette stadium. I put the whole thing on the shelf. I will admit I wasn't quite as overjoyed.
It had been so long since I had even been to a concert I forgot what it was like. As a mom now, I was worried about the large crowd and the long day. Quite frankly, I am not a night person, so realizing that I would not only be awake well past my regular bedtime but also expected to be smiling and dancing made me think someone else should take her. I was not all that sure I was up for the challenge. It didn't take me long to shed some of those initial concerns because I melted whenever I saw my daughter's face as she told me about another song and why you wrote it. Her smile and her enthusiasm were contagious. I heard the stories behind the songs and the sequence of your albums. I listened as intently as I did when she discovered "Hamilton."
When we were down to just a couple weeks until concert day, my daughter and her best friend spent hours painting their jeans with titles of your songs and lyrics. They bought matching hats and sunglasses. They sang and exchanged their hopes for your "surprise songs."
My girlfriend and I did the logistics that moms do- where will we park? What will we pack? How will we manage tired, grumpy teens at the end of the night? You know, all the fun stuff. The concert thrill had not yet seeped in. I had yet to tap into my younger self.
The day of your concert went better than we could have hoped. The stars aligned. Parking wasn't an issue; traffic wasn't an issue. We bought our merch and wandered outside of Gillette stadium on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The energy moving around us thawing the icy angst of planning. The throngs of women young and older, mothers and daughters, friends. The middle-aged men with T-shirts that read "Swiftie Dad," the costumes, the sparkles, the positive energy you could almost taste. I began to understand what the fuss was about. And I began to remember what it felt like to be a teenager and admire someone who brings music into your life and begins the soundtrack of your memories.
In November of 1982, the album "Thriller" was released. It was Micheal Jackson's sixth album. I had them all. My room was plastered with posters of him. I knew the words to every song. I wore penny loafers and would sneak downstairs to watch his videos on MTV, something unsanctioned in my home. When the video for "Thriller" was released a year later, I watched the premier at a friend's house. It was stunning and unique. MTV played that video at the top of the hour every hour for days, perhaps weeks. I would sneak downstairs and turn it on with a low volume so low you could barely hear it. I couldn't get enough. I never did get to see him in concert. He didn't do a solo show until 1987; I had lost some of my MJ mojo by then. But I still remember the thrill of hearing his music. Of dancing in my bedroom, music pounding in my ears from my Sony Walkman.
There were other concerts- Jimmy Buffett, of course. 10,000 Maniacs, Crosby Stills, Nash- no Young, but still awesome. The Police. There was the summer I convinced a friend to go see Peter Paul and Mary with me. Looking back on that concert, she was a better friend than I gave her credit for. That concert was in a quaint little outdoor theater called Oakdale, and the stage was round. The seats sat in a round, and the stage slowly moved so everyone could see the performers during the show. Peter ,Paul and Mary showing their age. When we were walking to my car, she shook her head at me and said, somewhat in disbelief, "I can't believe you knew the words to every song. "
But they were part of my soundtrack. My mother loved them. We watched every special they had on PBS. And really, what child in the 70s didn't know the words to "Puff the Magic Dragon"?
There were concerts I didn't get to. Madonna, for one. She wasn't exactly the role model parents were looking for in the early 80s, with her pointed bras and lace undergarments worn on the outside. Scandalous at the time. I missed U2 and Genesis. The drugs and alcohol probably had something to do with my parents saying no to concerts. The Beach Boys was about as far as my father would stretch.
But the concerts I did attend filled me with awe and left me with another musical track in the memory file of my life. The dynamic of thousands of people singing the same songs, swaying and dancing in a collaboration of festiveness never gets old.
In contrast to the drug and alcohol-infused concerts of the 80s, your show was full of light and creative young people. Young girls swapping bracelets they had made. Admiring one another's outfits. Giving compliments about their creativity. My daughter and her friends got many compliments on their jeans. They readily shared their admiration to other young women as we walked around. There was something different and infectious happening.
When the hour drew closer, my daughter and her friend could barely contain themselves. When the clock appeared on the large screen and the stadium erupted, my skin prickled with excitement. When the clock hit less than a minute, the energy surged. The anticipation climbed, and I had trouble moving my attention between the stage and my daughter. Her eyes welled, and she and her friend grabbed hands and locked on, joy coursing through their limbs. I watched as the dancers made their way on stage, the beautifully colored fans moved, and the music started. You know how to build a moment. I thought my poor child would lose her mind when you appeared from under one of those fans. It was a moment that I will relive in memory repeatedly. I tear up now, thinking about the moment of pure bliss and excitement on her sweet young face. I wish every mother out there could see something so magical. You did not disappoint. Each song was a feast for eyes and ears. It was part Broadway, part concert, part fantasy. I was pulled in and didn't even notice the "scream-singing" around me. It is possible I was scream-singing too.
Your humility almost exceeds your talent. The way you speak to an audience of 70,000, as though we are all sitting on your porch, makes young girls like my daughter feel special. Few people out there could pull that off. After you sang "Champagne Problems" and sat at your piano, unable to speak for several minutes because of the cheering and clapping from every section. The grace you showed when thanking the throngs of fans for lighting up the stadium during that song will be long remembered. In a time in our history when people seem to show very little grace, I am grateful to you for doing so. You show my daughter and millions of other young women how you can be successful, hold your own and remain kind and humble. I cannot think of a better role model.
I went into this little adventure thinking I needed to get through it for my daughter, to give her an experience and a fun memory. Instead, I came away a "Swiftie." I came away with admiration and gratitude. Gratitude for the chance to share a night of fantastic talent and explosive entertainment with my daughter. I had an opportunity to add to the soundtrack of my life. I joked with my daughter that when she hears "Shake it Off," forever after she will think of her mother and how I danced like I was 14 again. She may and she may not. Memories are like that. They can be fickle. Our memory of the whole event may be different. Still, someday, if she has a daughter of her own and they are off to her first concert, my daughter might say, "Let me tell you about your grandmother and the time she took me to my first Taylor Swift concert."
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