Our thirteen year old daughter, Rose, is a pretty typical eighth grader.  She takes dance class, plays basketball for her school's team, sleeps late, and loves having friends over.  She is fairly unique among her generation, though, in her musical tastes.  Although she does have some One Direction posters in her room, she is also a huge fan of 60's and 70's flower child singer Melanie.  I'm not sure whether I'm the one who introduced her to this veteran of Woodstock, or if it was Lauren, an 18 year old almost-sister who has seen Melanie in concert several times.  Regardless, Rose is a true fan, and her friend, Corban, bought her tickets for a Melanie concert to be held in Ogunquit, Maine.  I was to take Rose and Corban to the show the day before Rose turned 13.

The day of the concert, September 26, we received word that Melanie landed in Boston and she became violently ill.  The show would be rescheduled for January 17.  This gave us something to look forward to.  Rose had a countdown on her whiteboard in her room.  Every night when I tucked her in, we marked off another day. Lauren bought old copies of "Candles in the Rain" so Rose and Corban could get them autographed after the concert. Then, while Christmas shopping, when we found a discount Melanie CD that included many previously unreleased songs, we were thrilled to pick it up for ourselves for Christmas.  We play it often as we drive to school each day.

Finally, the big day came.  Having been a fan, myself, since I was 17, I was every bit as excited as my daughter to finally get to the show.  Then it happened.  Rose threw up.  Three times.  She was running a fever of 100.7.  The bug that had been going through her classroom finally attacked her hours before leaving for Ogunquit.  We asked her what she thought she could handle.  I was willing to bring her (We'd sit near the restroom doors, I told her).  But in a moment of surprising maturity and wisdom, she tearfully said she just couldn't sit in the car for two hours, much less attend a concert that didn't start until 8:00 PM.  We would stay home.

I called Corban, and she ended up going to the show with her parents.  Rose snuggled up on the couch and I read "Twilight" to her and Sue.  To say it was a disappointment would be an understatement.  The next day her fever was lower but not gone, and by that evening she was eating and keeping the food down.  That night she came into our room and, crying, apologized to me for causing us to miss the concert.  I assured her that I was not upset, and I told her that I would always do anything for her when she needed me.  Then I said, "You know, we've spent many days as a family at Woods Pond" (a beach one mile from our home), but the time at the beach I remember best was when your sister, Naomi, got a migraine.  I sat with her on a blanket and read "Series of Unfortunate Events" to her.  Like last night, that was a really sweet moment.  I love taking care of my girls."

I don't know if she gets it yet, but the truth is, these are the moments we'll remember forever.  How we handled the events of that evening  - and Naomi's headache at the beach years ago - will probably be among the most meaningful teachable moments we've been given.  A concert pales in comparison.

Corban saw Rose at church the next week, and gave Rose an autographed picture of Melanie.  She now hangs on Rose's wall alongside One Direction.