I think parents who take their kids to a teenie bopper concert should get some kind of extra effort award.
I don't ever remember my parents taking me to a concert unless it was something they wanted to see. Although they did send me with my cousin to see Captain and Tennille during their "Muskrat Love" tour. What I remember the most about the experience is that she bribed me with a Coke and licorice not to tell my parents that she had changed into her Daisy Dukes and halter top in the car after we left the house. I, on the other hand, was not dressed cool. I had on my Lee Rough Rider jeans and my Keds.
And there was also that Molly Hatchet concert my uncle took us to at Carowinds by accident when we just happened to wander in to the arena. But we left after one song when he smelled someone smoking "something funny."
Unlike my parents, I am now a veteran of several tween concerts. They include Miley Cyrus (back when she was still Hannah), Taylor Swift, and now, Justin Bieber. When I gave my girls their Bieber tickets on Christmas Day they were apoplectic -- screaming, jumping up and down, hugging each other. You would have thought they had won the lottery. It made selling my kidney online to pay for the tickets almost worth it.
Saturday night, we headed to Greensboro for the show with all the other Beliebers. The first thing I noticed about the crowd was that it was almost all women -- mothers and daughters with the occasional unhappy looking father sprinkled in. And with few exceptions, they were all wearing Bieber gear -- hats, T-shirts, scarves. Apparently, he has an entire line of clothing.
Two acts came before JB, and soon after they ended, the girls started changing "Justin" until they were hoarse. When he finally took the stage amidst a fountain of pyrotechnics in his MC Hammer baggy pants, sunglasses and a skimpy tank top, the girls were on their feet dancing and mouthing the words to every song. Most stayed on their feet for the entire show, getting photos and videos on their phones to send to envious friends.
To be honest, I used the time to catch up on email and Words With Friends.
When it was all over, we shuffled like cattle out of the crowded coliseum. The kids had pink cheeks and tired smiles on their faces. As much as the event wasn't my cup of tea, I realized this generation had just experienced their version of "Muskrat Love," and, unlike my parents, I was gratefully there to witness it...
Amanda is the mom of two, a reporter for WRAL-TV and the author of several books including three on motherhood. Find her here on Mondays.