It was 1990. And it was New Kids on the Block.
I will never forget it as long as I live.
I wore a pair of black leggings and a massive black and white houndstooth tunic sweater and hi-top Converse all-stars. And my Debbie Gibson/Joey Jeremiah hat over a really bad idea perm. I sang through the entire concert set. I cried when Joey McIntyre took the stage. I cried when he left the stage. I screamed until my voice was completely gone. I was convinced that Jonathan Knight was totally looking at ME during one of the songs. It, at the time, was the best thing to ever happen to 12-year-old-Ali.
I smiled about that night every single day for an entire year each time I opened up my locker and My Teen Beat Magazine cut-out of the boys stared back at me. KISS. KISS. Love. Love. Joey McIntyre was going to be mine. I knew everything about him. His birth date, his hometown, his favorite songs, his favorite color, how he liked to eat his pizza. I memorized every single thing I read about him. I learned all of his dance moves and could do them—badly.
On Tuesday, I took my kids to see their very first concert. I sat in the third row of the mezzanine with my favorite little ladies in the entire world.
Maroon 5 and Neon Trees at the Air Canada Center.
Emily wore her white and navy striped Aritzia off-the-shoulder shirt and grey leggings and combat boots. Isabella wore skinny jeans and her favorite balloon shirt and UGGs.
They made a sign. They cried when Adam Levine took the stage. They cried when he left the stage after moving like Jagger. They were up and dancing and singing along to every single song, even his old stuff that I didn’t know they had memorized. They screamed until their voices were hoarse. They gasped when he said the s-word. They were convinced that he was looking rightatthem.
They will be smiling about this concert for a long time. They are currently fighting over which one of them is going to marry Adam Levine. And they both, of course, want posters for their rooms.
I know they will remember it forever, and probably blog about it one day. And I’m so thankful that I was there to see their faces, to dance with them, to hear their squeals.
I’m just glad neither one of them had on a Joey Jeremiah hat to blame me for.
Who was your first?