The year I learned to hate bumper cars

What was your first concert? 

The earliest memory I can draw up is of the Appalachian Fair.  Eddie Rabbit sang “I’m Driving My Life Away” and “I Love a Rainy Night.” 

That was when I learned to hate bumper cars.  It was even the last time I remember our family of four going to the fair.  Probably from all the trauma.  Mom and Dad had bought just so many tickets for the rides.  Ferris wheels were fabulous.  Carousels were comforting.  But we got to the end of the evening and there were only enough ticket left for two more people to ride one more ride. 

Rather than show preference for either me or my sister (2 years 5 months younger than I), our parents insisted we ride together without them.  Why we chose the bumper cars, I’ll never know.  We’d never ridden them before. 

I remember the sick feeling of drunken butterflies in my stomach.  You know what I mean.  The happy butterflies indicate good things are happening.  The drunken ones mean, “RUN!” 

We climbed into the red, shiny car.  (Is that why I still don’t like red cars?)  Our parents assured us, we could manage.  It all came to a screeching, banging halt — quite literally — when my sister’s face connected with the steering wheel and blood went gushing from her mouth.  I still feel nauseated at bumper cars.

After that, I don’t really remember a concert.  Until sometime in college.  Maybe it was our Junior year.  The college brought a regional band called “The Connells.”  My roommate and I designed the T-shirt.  A good friend of our loved them.  But then, he’d grown up near their home base and had heard them a few times.  Honestly, I don’t even remember a song.

The first concert I really have vivid memories of came from my Atlanta days.  Music Midtown.  My friend J and hopped the Marta line from Inman Park (the earliest suburb of Atlanta — quite cool architecture!).  J knew what she was doing.  I had the drunken butterflies on Marta; the happy ones when we arrived in Midtown; the drunken ones again as we felt the crowds begin pressing in on us as we stood at the front of the open-air makeshift theatre. 

Paula Cole was opening for the Indigo Girls — our favorites.  It’s when I became a fan of Paula’s.  Most people remember her for the theme song for “Dawson’s Creek” — “I Don’t Want to Wait.”  But I loved “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone.”  Her lyricism and range, artistry and movement were entrancing.   Her sass inspired me.

Later in the night, the Indigo Girls came on.  We sang along to “Galileo,” of course.  It was the first time I heard a song called “Scooter Boys.”  I remember my friend and I got into a debate over that one.  Over those years of grad school, I’d hear the Girls a few times.  I’ve seen them once since.  There’s something about a live experience of those ladies that is very special. 

But, I’ll tell you what.  Though I love hearing Emily and Amy live, I’d rather listen to Harry Connick, Jr. on a recording any day.  A group of us went to hear him at the Fox Theatre (which is an amazing space).  Being the poor grad students we were, we bought the cheapest tickets.  Sure enough, we climbed to the very top row.  Harry disappeared behind one of the joints of my thumb.  But it was still better than the time I learned to hate bumper cars.

Oh, and Harry never fails to make me smile.  Good antidote to the bumper cars.