Bury Me In Philly When I Die

A love letter to family friendly music festivals

Dave Hause is singing an unreleased song that he wrote for and about his kids called “May Every Last Fever Break”. Like all the best songs do, this one has cracked me open. I’m crying with my hand on my daughter’s back, wondering if she will remember this moment. Wondering if she will ever know how profoundly grateful I am to and for her. I rest my head on her hair, thinking about how it seems like yesterday it was baby cornsilk-fine. I don’t want to audibly sob but it’s so difficult. I press my fingers to my eyes and try to catch my breath. Just then, I feel a tap on my back. I turn and…

…my son is standing there with the biggest smile I have ever seen. He is holding an enormous toad. “Look what I caught!” And now I’m laughing and I’m crying and I miss the end of the song.

Friends, welcome to family festival season.

I used to say that America didn’t have a “festival season”, which is completely incorrect. I just didn’t know where to look. Now, I will be attending three festivals (2 with family and 1 solo) between May 1 and June 25. And the two with family are multi-day events!

“All ages show” are some of my favorite words. “Kids under 12 free with paying adult” are basically magic*. Not just because my kids get in free (although let’s be real, that’s HUGE. How many vacations can a family take where kids who are old enough to enjoy it can get in free? LOOKIN’ AT YOU, DISNEY), but because it’s shorthand for “this is a family festival”. There WILL be kids. The kids WILL catch toads and play games and give each other tattoos. And the atmosphere WILL be joyful, cooperative, and based in community.

Community, having and building, is what first drew me into alternative scenes as a teenager. I was so sure I would and could fit SOMEWHERE, if only I could find the right place. And I did! I found some, I built some, I moved across the country twice, then I had some personal shocks and tragedies that took me to some really dark places for a really long time. Skip ahead 13 years and I decided I didn’t want to die that way. So there I was—42, newly sober, lonely as hell, 2 young kids, no idea what came next. I had friends, friends as close as people can be, but those were different. They would (and have) walked through hell with me, but I was looking for a bigger “somewhere” to belong. Truthfully, I was scared out of my wits to try it again, old and sober and with a family. I still felt (and feel) most at home in alternative communities, punk and goth and the space in between, but would there be a place for me? And was I brave enough to try?

Someday maybe I’ll tell you the whole story (it involves one of my oldest friends, a kind of amazing number of miles on my car, PET NEEDS, and enough coffee to float an armada) but it ends—and, in many ways, begins—at Camp Punksylvania last year.

I had taken my kids to shows a few times, but this was our first festival. Our first multi-day, out-of-state adventure with our camper. I didn’t know what to expect, or even what to hope for. I knew some of my friends would be there, and was excited to see them, but they are in different places in their lives. Put simply: what was I going to DO with The Children?

It took about 15 minutes for that question to be settled. Because my kids were FAR from the only kids there. There was a whole “kids area”! I sometimes envy my daughter, because she will march up to a kid she doesn’t know, introduce herself, and say “wanna play?” My son is a bit more circumspect but 10 year old boys tend to be comfortable in packs, so he does just fine. Me? I get nervous. I second guess myself. I’m awkward. But it turns out I’m not alone. Lots of parents are unsure of where we fit, both as parents and as people, both part of a scene and raising the next generation within a scene. And festivals? They give us a space to connect with each other, as parents, as punks, as music fans. As people.

Before we left Sing Us Home last week, I added new numbers into my phone. For the kids, and for myself. In a few weeks I get to see the people that I did that same thing with last year at Camp Punx. I am so, so excited.

There’s a saying: the opposite of addiction is connection. And another: Facism is fought with community. We keep us safe. We’re all we’ve got. I’m so delighted to exist in this magical space with all of you. Here’s to many more festivals, many more surprise thunderstorms and sticky popsicle hands and kids catching fireflies in the twilight. Here’s to the joy of seeing each other again, and again. If you see me at a festival, please say hi—I’ll be the one laughing with a tall boy with a toad in his hand.

I have two kids under the age of 10 but over the age of 4, so my experience is definitely* not universal!