Jun 11, 201210:11 AMPlain Jane
Because Moms Can't Be Afraid to Tell it Like it is
I hate New York
"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times" … it was last Friday morning.
I won VIP passes to see Brad Paisley, the famed country singer, perform in Central Park on Good Morning America. I was stoked! This would be my little boys' first concert ever.
And no one knows this, but I listen to Paisley on my iPod when I write my monthly columns. His songwriting is brilliant, funny and gets my juices flowing. Sorry bald man, but Brad RAWKS!
The show required us to be at the VIP queue by 5 a.m. and I refused to be late, even though mornings make me all weird and fuzzy. I roused my family at 1 a.m. and we piled into the car to drive the many hours to The Big Apple. I took the first shift driving and traded with Michael when we got into the city. After a nightmarish hour of hunting for a parking space, we finally found one and went on to receive our VIP wristbands.
Once inside the venue, we stood in yet another line and made nice with the people around us. Then, we were told we were going to move again. A man announced, "We will remove these barriers and you will take four giant steps forward. Stay in your place and this will all work out fine." Simple enough. The barriers were removed and we all took the big steps forward toward the stage. Everyone followed the rules except a woman and her spoiled daughter. They rushed ahead of my law-abiding boys, belting one of them with her giant, orange purse and pushed in front of them.
The bald man tapped the mother on the shoulder and explained to her her error. She snorted in his face and refused to move. The soul-less mother and daughter were about 6-feet tall, while my little guys ended up butt-level. And right there, in the middle of Central Park, a feud began.
(First: Notice how tall. Second: If I wouldn't be sued, I would show you her face!!!)
The super nice women around us were incensed and I was equally fuming. My boys were bored literally to tears because all they could see was Ms. Pants Pockets, while the two rotten apples in front of us flung their hair wildly and wiggled their Big Apple bottoms.
Surprisingly, the crowd turned on them. Several people (God bless them) asked them to do the right thing. Guess what they said? "Too bad!" (Just imagine what that women's daughter will grow up to be like?)
We left the crowd and retreated to the side stage.
Here’s the funny thing about karma: Once we retreated to the side stage we accidentally found a spot where all of the celebrities went back and forth. Within 20 minutes, my little boys were high-fiveing Brad Paisley and his all-too-kind friend who handed them guitar picks. They were over the moon!
But our big city adventure was not over yet.
After the concert, we made our way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where we saw the most amazing pieces of art and were having a blast, despite our lack of sleep. But then, right there in the middle of the Modern Art wing, a crotchety old man walked up to us and yelled at my husband for taking pictures of my kids in front of a painting.
To be clear, the bald man used his phone—no flash—and it was all allowed under the rules of the Met. Yet this rotten person chose to chew us all out in the middle of our family time—way to ruin a museum trip for my children. Oh, I must add, 94 percent of the people visiting that day were taking pics with their phones, too.
After that last confrontation we were longing for Central Pa. We piled into the minivan and began our trek home. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. As we crept, slow as molasses, towards the Holland Tunnel, a huge box truck side-swiped us.
I dialed 411 as Michael exited the vehicle. The bald man argued with the criminal. Random strangers got out of their cars. Words were exchanged. Horns beeped endlessly. As it became heated, my children announced they needed to GO! So off we went.
Two hours later, we were finally back on the road. As I always do, I asked the boys what was their favorite part of the day. The oldest said, "Feeding the pigeons outside the Met and getting the guitar pick!" My youngest interrupted, "Yeah! I can't wait to get home and learn how to play the guitar with my new pick!"
So thank you Brad Paisley and your people. Even though I kinda hate New York now, whether you know it or not, you have created your next new rival—The Suter Brothers Band. Watch out! They just might play Central Park on Good Morning America one day. And when they do, I'll be there. And no streak-bleached, Botoxed, self-entitled divas will shove any little ones aside on my watch, I promise you that. But I can also assure you, my boys will high-five every kid there. They know what it means and what a difference it can make! xoxox jane