Quinland went to see Hudson Taylor tonight.
I didn’t get to go with him, of course, because he and Harry and Alfie were in New York City tonight, not in Portland.
Luckily, I have a very thoughtful child who knows how excited I am about the whole thing, about Quinland seeing Hudson Taylor for the first time, about Hudson Taylor being on a proper U.S. tour, about every last detail of the venue and the show and the songs. He sent me shots of the very small venue, short videos of Harry and Alfie onstage, a list of the songs they performed . . . it’s like I was actually there.
Because if I had been there, I would have embarrassed Q beyond all imagining, with being a fangirl and calling out “Drop of Smoke!” and wanting to hang out after the show to thank the lads for the last five years of fun and good music. I’d have probably worn a Hudson Taylor t-shirt and waved at Harry and/or Alfie if I’d seen them sticking their heads out for a look before they went onstage.
It’s possible that I would have totally kept my cool and been incognito with my fangirl-ness, wearing perfectly normal mom-like clothes and keeping to myself and realizing that the last thing these young men want is some lady who looks like their auntie or your woman up the street behaving like a teenage lunatic and claiming to know all sorts of people who ran Hudson Taylor fan sites back in the day. Yes, it’s possible.
But not likely.
As much as I’d like to keep my cool, I may be constitutionally incapable of doing so. I’m the kind of person who gets CDs signed and asks for photos and blinds band members with my giddy, face-splitting grin. Let’s face it: I love music, I love the people who make the wonderful music, and I’ve never met an autographed souvenir I didn’t like.
Hudson Taylor are coming to Portland in two weeks, and I have tickets.
They’d better look out.