So what do you give an up-and-coming 18-year-old who is already spoiled beyond belief?
Apparently, you give him concert tickets. And that is what I gave him. Three tickets to the Vans Warped Tour.
He and Sarge went last year. This year, Jake took his girl and his brother. Being that the venue was 3 hours away, I also got him a hotel room.
Do you know how much sweet talk is involved in getting a hotel manager to allow 3 kids under 21 to check in? A lot.
It involved things like, “Well, they’re my babies and I don’t want them making a 3-hour drive back home at midnight.”
Finally, she relented. As long as Jake had in his possession the credit card in MY name that I used to reserve the room. That’s right. I sent 3 teenagers out the door Monday morning with MY truck and MY credit card.
I’d peel that boy’s skin off and wear it as a dress if I were
16 years old.
If you’re from my generation and aren’t familiar with the Warped Tour, think early Lollapalooza. The first 3 years or so. When it was what it was supposed to be; what Perry Farrell had imagined it to be. That’s Warped.
Lots of different stages. Probably a hundred different bands playing at various times. They actually give you a band list when you get there with the times they are playing so that you can schedule your day.
Lots of weed, I am sure. Lots of mosh pits. Lots of sweat and hormones and adrenaline. Throughout the day, I got a constant stream of text messages from all 3 of them about who they had to rescue from the pits, who they punched in the face, all the band members they got to see up close and personal like. So yes, I pretty much lived vicariously through their text messages.