Four years ago I shared with you the experience of taking my daughter to her first concert. It was Pink and it was thrilling. It was also the same week Phillip Seymour Hoffman died from a drug overdose.

This week I took my daughter to her second concert. It was Pink and it was thrilling. It was also the first time my daughter turned to me and said, “I’m afraid something bad is going to happen.”

See, now the other disease killing people…  guns. Guns at concerts, movies, churches, schools and Waffle Houses. My heart broke that as we sat in our amazing seats, our Pink sweatshirts on and our bottle of water ready to help us get through a night of singing, dancing and screaming for our absolute favorite artist on the planet… my daughter was worried about being shot and killed.

Four years ago that was not on her mind. Four years ago that wasn’t even in her reality. Four years ago she was 12 years old doing homework in the backseat as we drove to the stadium chewing gum. Four years ago she didn’t have snapchat or instagram or even a phone to document a single thing she was about to experience. We were going to experience it in real time (okay, I had a phone and definitely planed to take pictures of my girl — well, both girls. I mean, I had to video Pink flying over our heads). The point is, four years ago the only thing my child was concerned about was getting her homework done before we got to the concert.

But this time I saw the difference immediately in our time together. I saw my daughter looking around at the audience as they took their seats. She was nervous. Was she looking for strange people?  Someone who looked dangerous? Unfortunately, you can’t spot someone who plans to kill with a gun. They look like kids in school, adults who go to restaurants, people who see Batman movies.

I took my daughter’s hand and said, “remember how they searched us before coming in? There’s really good security now, baby. ”

This made me happy but also extremely sad. Sad that we open our bags and walk through machines before going anywhere these days. Because nowhere seems to be safe.


I rubbed her back, held her hand and reminded her that our favorite singer was about to perform and give her all to us. Let’s give our all to her.

And the lights went out, the crowd screamed, the music kicked in and there was Pink flying high on a chandelier. I was on my feet ready to dance my middle aged ass off for the next few hours. My daughter by my side stood up, put her phone away and started singing along – “I’m coming out so you better get this party started…”

And we were there… present. The fear washed away as we celebrated music, life, courage. I mean, if you’ve never been to a Pink concert every single thing she does takes massive courage.

I even enjoyed that this time around my horrible dancing embarrassed my daughter. Yes! Now we’re here! Eye rolling teenager, menopausal mom and fucking Pink!

The stadium was one big joyful place. We all left dripping in sweat, beautiful exhaustion… and safe.

I never went to a concert with my mom. I never danced with my mom. I never even listened to music with my mom. I hope for my daughter’s third concert she still wants to go with this mom. I hope she’ll be unafraid. I hope the world will feel like a safer place.

And I hope it’s Pink.