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What We Do For Love

When you read the title of this post, what was your first thought?

Tell the truth. You were probably hoping for something juicy.

Sorry to disappoint you, but this won’t be about passion and romance. But it is about love, nonetheless. Just a different form of love.

What exactly would you do for your children? Probably lots. Love them, protect them, teach them, guide them. Let them know you support them in many ways, both big and small.

But what about the passions of our children? (Sorry to disappoint you yet again, but I’m not referring to their romantic lives, either.) What would you do if your child’s passion, their absolute favorite thing in the universe, presented itself as an opportunity?

I’m not talking about those wonderful times a grand opportunity presents itself, to do or see or experience something special. I’m talking about the one thing, the one thing, that means more to your child than anything else in the world.

Do you even know what that special thing is?

For Daughter, I sure do.

Can you spell Beyonce?

Daughter’s love of Beyonce borders on, well, obsession. But in a good way (as in knowing every song, lyric, video, concert tour, CD or DVD – and believe me, there are far more versions of the latter two than you might think), not in a stalkeresque manner.

She’s loved her, nay, adored her, since she was five. (Daughter, not Beyonce.) Ever since she heard her first song, she’s been smitten. Not in a dramatic, ‘watch me’ kind of way. No, in the quiet, smoldering flame of love, respect and admiration. Ten years of unmitigated adoration.

Over the years she’s followed her with a zeal unmatched in just about any other part of her life. I know, deep in my soul, that Daughter loves me more than Beyonce. But I would not want to have to test that on any given day.

Before we moved to The Netherlands two years ago, the opportunity for Daughter to see Beyonce in concert arose. Six weeks, seventy miles and a small fortune later, I was driving Daughter and a good friend (chosen specifically for also being an ardent fan) to the concert in a small North Carolina city west of soon-to-be-no-longer-our-home.

The verdict? Amazing. Defying description.

Cue the passage of two years overseas, and one morning Daughter arrives at my side to announce that B is coming to France in a small series of shows as a warm-up to headlining Glastonbury. Suddenly, I knew what lay ahead of me.

I was given strict instructions as to exactly how and when to procure the tickets (oh the pressure!), and six weeks, 225 kilometers and another small fortune later, I was driving Daughter and a new good friend to Lille, France for said concert.

And the verdict this time? Even better than before. Incredible. Sublime. We worked our way up to the front and my hand was only twelve inches – twelve inches!- from her head. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you Mom!

The things we do for love. Sigh…

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