I was 20 years old the summer my nephew was born so it was inevitable that I would become the cool Aunt.
And so I did.
He’s a small-town kid just like I was, but ever since he’s been old enough to realize it, I’ve lived in big cities and worked in the film and television business.
When he was 12 years old he and a friend spent an entire day on the set of the short film Rob and I produced, observing with wide-eyed wonder and stuffing their faces with food from the craft service table.
After that he came at least once or twice a year to stay with us for a few days at a time. He watched Rob’s old music videos, dabbled on the drums and practiced his guitar in our music room and watched cable television late into the night in our basement.
Three years ago I took him on the set of a feature film Rob was working on. He caught a nod from one of his favorite actors and was delighted when the grips and special effects technicians gave him a special tour of their extremely impressive work.
Two summers ago Rob wrapped up production on this movie and brought him home a crew shirt and hat which, he assured me, was certain to help score chicks.
And just last year he confided with a sly smile, “Yup, I do a lot of bragging about my Uncle Rob to the kids at school.”
Well now it’s my turn.
I wasn’t sure if he would have time for his Aunt Kelly last Friday night when I first saw him, surrounded by all his friends, in my old hometown in a rented arena that smelled like teen spirit and possibility.
But he did.
He even hugged me. “I’m so glad you came and you’re gonna hear me play!”
And I did hear him play. My nephew’s band – Quarter Mile Line – was the second one on stage in a five-act concert line up that he organized himself and dubbed Toucapalooza (don’t ask!) after his charismatic bass player.
The music was incredible. The night went off without a hitch. My nephew and his band mates raised more than $1,000 for the music program at their high school and cemented their status as local rock stars.
As for me? I cemented my status as a dork by pushing my way through the sweating throngs to snap countless pictures of him during the performance.
But I didn’t care. As the music blared in my tender ears and the girls stuck behind me snickered and rolled their heavily-made-up eyes, it occurred to me that, like everything else in life, there is a season for being cool.
Enjoy your spring Grasshopper.
I couldn’t be more proud of you.
