On the way down to see HAIM, the middle show in my biographical month of music, the Bear says to me, “Daddy, I’m going to miss doing this when [Mouse] gets older.” She went on to elaborate, “when she grows up, she’ll want to come out with us and it won’t be just the two of us anymore. I love hanging out with her, but I’ll miss this.”
Luckily, I’d bought a fresh box of Kleenex for the car earlier in the day, because, damn, there’s no gut punch quite like one coming from a sentimental child smack dab in the middle of growing up.
I’d miss it too, darling, I would, but it’ll never change if you never stop wanting to go out for late-night, mid-week rock shows with your dad. Never.
Never mind that, on the way home from the show, at 10:30pm as she struggled to keep her eyes open to fully recap Haim’s setlist and confirm that we both really enjoyed the 1/2 hour of music provided by Tennis, the Bear humorously recounted the profane between-song banter the Haim sisters sprinkled into their 1+ hour on stage. [gulp]