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Thursday, September 10, 2009

Opinion / Mike McCray / News An ode to the rap concert chaperone

Posted By on Thu, Sep 10, 2009 at 10:21 AM

Here's to you, rap concert chaperone.

Some people would call you overprotective, but we know you only mean the best. We know that this is your way of taking an active interest in your child's life (and making sure your daughter doesn't end up leaving with the guy dressed just like the rapper on stage that night).

We know you've gone the extra mile to buy good tickets, then chauffeur your kid and crew to the concert, even being cool enough to drive around the parent drop off section because we know, seeming cool is all you want to do tonight.

We know that's why you went in that store in the mall that wasn't age appropriate, asked the oldest looking floor employee "what's hot" and bought that shirt that's a little tight, but just like the one the stars wear. That's why you go out the white shoe cleaner and put a new coat of the stuff on your Air Force One's that you've had since their inception, those are what the kids are wearing right?

With your self confidence beaming after a hipster kid with new Nike's and two of those huge holes in his ear compliments you on your now vintage kicks, you walk proudly into the venue, your khaki shorts creased just as well as your slacks are Monday through Friday in the office.

You scope the place for other "hip" parents and laugh quietly to yourself as your see the mid-50's Asian couple completely confused by the experience.

See you've done your research, you bought all the artist's material, clean versions of course, and when the concert gets really good, you'll know all the words.

We know you remember how embarrassing it was to have your Mom come to the P-Funk concert with you back in '76, so your wisely got your seats to rows behind. Smooth move dad.

Now what you missed in all your preparation were the little things.

Earplugs for one. See when you played those squeaky clean tunes you bought from Wal-Mart it was on your terms and at a reasonable volume. The concert speakers vibrating your core and the bass so loud you can't even follow, you begin to feel out of place.

Disoriented by the swarms of similarly clad young men on stage, you wonder to yourself, which one is the guy on the album cover? They all have on hats, they all have a microphone, and all of them are rapping.

Your Wikipedia research told you the rappers aliases but didn't tell you what they meant. See as far as your lingo knowledge goes, Jeezy is the Snowman presumably because of his "icy" white tees. Little did you know he was referring to cocaine. Sure you'd seen a couple friends do it back in college but after Len Bias died, you swore it off.

Now you're on edge, see what you forgot to do was watch the videos for those songs. You walked into a minefield of questionable images, smoke, lights and noise and you weren't ready, you're aura of cool is wearing off.

You've finally forced yourself to tune out, using that trick you use when you're zoning out at work or being chewed out by your spouse. But your attention is once again caught by the big screen where a mother-daughter crew dressed like twins, is sitting on the front row having the time of their lives. That was supposed to be you.

As jealously seeps in you realize, there are two acts to go and you're struggling to hide your distaste. Stuck reading Wall Street Journal updates on your Blackberry, you begin to countdown how much longer you'll tolerate the nonsense.

Now your Blackberry's shutting down, looks like the concert browsing drained your battery. With your senses on overload, your patience growing short and your brand new shirt beginning to reek of hormones and second-hand blunt smoke, you tell the kids that you're leaving after the next song. To beat the traffic of course, not cause you're uncomfortable.

The walk to the car is a brisk one, your mind trying to erase the borderline child pornography of one of your kid's scantly clad classmates on stage displaying her best stripper moves. You know? the ones she practices in her room? The ones she records then posts on YouTube where, they have 20,000 views.

As your kid and their friends talk about their favorite parts of the show and who they saw at the concert, you're inside your head at the wheel, just hoping that you forget the things you've seen. This will probably be the last time you, "put your motherfuckin' hands in the air" with your seed.

We know you'll bounce back from that awkward ride home and the subsequent parental lock on the television but hey, as far as your kids know right now, you're pretty cool and seeing as your kid wasn't the one on stage, you can take home that minor victory.

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