“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, the shows are great. And I’m seeing a lot of great acts that I had never heard of before, like last weekend when they took me to the Drums & Tuba concert, or last month when I saw Dalek and Kittie. I’m telling you, Harry, there are a lot of incredible bands out there that I never even knew existed.”

“Then what are you complaining about?”

“For one thing, they keep getting on my case about my clothes. Like I don’t know how to dress for a concert.”

“Times have changed since we grew up, Harry. Different styles and all that.”

“But you and me, Harry, we’re boomers for crying out loud. Our generation invented the modern rock concert. However, last week when they took me to see The Damned, they wouldn’t let me wear my tie-died Bob Dylan T-shirt and matching headband.”

“You still have your headband? But you haven’t had any hair since Yes was selling out arenas, Roger.”

“I know, but it’s a part of who I am, Harry. Like last month when we were getting ready to see Cher. They refused to let me out of the house unless I ditched the bell-bottoms, Earth Shoes and fringed vest. You know, the one with the love beads hanging from the sides?”

“I’ve spent many years, not to mention a ton of money on therapy, trying to bury that part of my past, Roger.”

“And then the night before last they took me to see Jack Johnson, and they wouldn’t even let me flick my Bic during the encore.”

“Cheer up, Roger. A lot of fathers would do anything to spend so much time with their kids.”

“I know, Harry.”

“You’re really quite lucky your kids want to take you out to see all these concerts, like Enrique Iglesias and Unwritten Law.”

“You’re right, Harry. I should be counting my blessings. It’s just that…”

“Just what, Roger?”

“I just wish they didn’t make me sit with them. After all, what if my all friends saw me?