Finally, it hit me. Aaron was sixteen years old. How many opportunities would I have to do something fun with him before he went away to college? And how many youth actually invited their mothers to attend a concert with them that was clearly geared for teens? The decision was made. I would not miss this opportunity.
At the concert, I sat with Aaron and his girlfriend in the third row, stuffing cotton in my ears to block out the loud, ear-splitting amplified music of the first performer. I stood when the kids stood, clapped when they clapped, and never let anyone know how nervous I was to feel the floor vibrate beneath my feet. Aaron and his friends were amused at my enthusiasm.
By the time we left the concert, I was certain my hearing was damaged forever. My ears were ringing and sounds seemed muffled, but it quickly passed. So did my son’s teenage years. In no time he was in college and away from home. I missed him more than I could say. On days when I was especially lonely for his ready smile and his teasing manner, I would think back to the concert we attended and be thankful once again that I didn’t pass up an opportunity to spend time with my son.
Aaron is now grown and has a family of his own, but we are still very close. Some days he calls just to chat and tell me about his day. I drop everything and enjoy the moment, knowing these times too shall pass.
We sometimes reminisce on that concert of years ago when my teenage son and I made a lifetime memory. Aaron always laughs about the fact that his mom was the “only” person in the whole youth group to get an autograph from the performer.