Card Carrying Mosh Pit Mom

Last year when I took my oldest Prince to Edgefest, the all day, out door alternative rock concert? Well, being the cool and apparently amnesia riddled mom that I am, we went again.

This time we got tickets in the field, read mosh pit. A flat floor, not a chair in sight, with cordoned off aisles up the center and around the front of the stage. And a million kids. I played seat squatter in a section of the stands and kept an eye on my kid and his two friends with my binoculars. Trapped like moms in the carpool line they I watch them try to ooch themselves closer to the stage. Moving at about a 5 foot per set rate, they get stuck about ten feet from the stage. And they ain’t moving.

Around 4pm another dad and I figure that the boys haven’t had food or water since they got wedged in there. We cook up a plan where I enter the belly of the pit beast and rescue them with Gatorade. God forbid the powers that be let you have a plastic bottle, you can only have your drink poured into plastic cups, and therefore I have my fingers in four cups like a Denny’s waitress bussing a table. I storm into the abyss of humanity, I’m a woman on a mission, determined to save our young lads from dehydration. I glide through the crowd, elbowing my way forward with an occasional shout of, “Moving through, step aside, 43-year-old Mom coming thru!” The sea parts for me, unfortunately only momentarily. I’m about 10 feet behind the boys, shoved against the barrier when I get a serious whiff of sweaty teens. I felt like the narrator of the Hindenburg tragedy, “Oh the humanity!”

The set finally ends and I reach the boys. After an errant elbow I am now wearing red Gatorade on my new shirt, a white T of course. It took about a nano second to decide that I would exit the mosh pit and enjoy the rest of the day in the relative safety and fresh air of the stands.

Apparently the only way to get out was to jump the barrier or surf out. Hang ten, here I go. The boys boost me up into the crowd and I start to sail to the right. The loooong way out. “No, no! The other way,” I shout. I am swiftly tossed hand over hand to the side after accidentally kicking some dude in the head. (Hey, it’s rough in there. He knew that going in!). A security guard holds out his arms screaming, “You’ve got to trust me!” like we are on some episode of ER. I dive into his waiting embrace, am corralled to the aisle in front of the stage and high five the roadies as I race by.

The rest of the concert passed by without any further mishaps, unless you count extreme boredom. I’m just thrilled I got to add crowd surfing to the list of things I’ve done but never thought I’d do.