I save my son from a lifetime of humiliation and does he thank me for it? Noooo.
Boy: I want to go the Jingle Ball [which is advertised nonstop on the radio station he has on at all times.]
Me: No.
Boy: Why not?
Me: First of all, it’s sold out.
Boy: You can still get tickets.
Me: Second of all, the bands playing suck.
Boy: No, they don’t!
Me: Name who’s playing.
Boy: Uh, I don’t remember.
We go online and look it up.
Me: Oh, fer Christ’s sake. Justin Bieber is headlining. You like Justin Bieber?
Boy: No. But I like the other bands.
Me: Which one? You like The Wanted? Train? Karmin? Bridget Mendler? Isn’t she the one from Disney Channel? Alex Care?
Boy: Yeah, him. I like him.
Me: Name one song he sings.
Boy: I don’t know the name! I just know I like it.
Me: No.
Boy: Look up how much tickets are.
We got to StubHub. Tickets are in the $39 to $5,000+ range.
Boy: They’re not that much.
Me: No! The money is not the point! The point is that someday you will go to college, and people will say to you, “What was the first concert you went to,” and you’ll have to say, “Justin Bieber,” and then you will cry yourself to sleep at night from the shame.
Boy: I could lie!
Me: No. I forbid it. I forbid you going to see Justin Bieber. Have some pride in yourself, boy!
He’s still pissed. But I can live with that. And one day, he’ll be in college, and I’ll show him this post, and he’ll have to buy me flowers or chocolate or cars in gracious thanks that I didn’t let him go.
