Last night, my darling son went to Tampa with his girlfriend to see Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson on the Freaks on Parade Tour 2026.
Without me.
The audacity.
Although, to be fair, I am currently old, tired, run down, and considerably less willing to stand in a sold-out auditorium surrounded by thousands of sweaty humans than I once was. So perhaps this was for the best.
But these two artists have been part of the soundtrack of my life since long before Seth existed.
Music was just part of our house when my kids were growing up. I played bass with their father — now generally known around these parts simply as the sperm donor — in a goth metal band. The kids grew up surrounded by instruments, rehearsals, loud music, black clothing, questionable lyrics and whatever other ingredients were necessary to produce the adults they eventually became.
Apparently some of it stuck.
Because now my son is going to see Rob fucking Zombie and Marilyn fucking Manson.
And his mama could not be prouder. 🖤
There is something particularly strange about watching your children grow up and discover that the music you raised them on has become their music, too.
Especially when you remember exactly where you were when some of those songs were still relatively new.
The First Time Mama Left the Baby
The first time I saw Marilyn Manson, Seth was four months old.
Basically Maisie’s age now.
Let that little generational mindfuck settle in for a moment.
I went to see Manson at the Fillmore Auditorium, in a venue so intimate compared with today’s giant arena shows that I remember feeling like I could practically reach out and touch him.
And I think the ticket cost me something like $45.
Forty. Five. Dollars.
The tickets for last night’s show were around $700 each.
Jesus Christ.
Apparently inflation has also come for Satan.
That concert was a milestone for another reason, though. It was the first time I ever pumped breast milk and got a sitter so I could go out without my baby.
I remember it like it happened yesterday.
Seth was this tiny little four-month-old creature. I was still very much in new-mom mode. And for one night I pumped the boobie milk, entrusted my baby to somebody else and went to see Marilyn Manson.
Because motherhood contains multitudes.
I still have the shirt from that concert, too.
Technically.
I believe it currently resides with approximately half of my vintage concert-shirt collection in my daughter’s closet over in Destin.
Bella, this is your reminder that those are vintage artifacts belonging to your elderly mother, thank you very much. 😹
And Now Look at Him
Last night that four-month-old baby was standing in a sold-out auditorium watching the same musician.
Except he’s not a baby anymore.
He’s a grown man with his own girlfriend, his own life, his own taste in music and — apparently — very good taste at that.
And somewhere in the middle of this huge concert, surrounded by thousands of people and experiencing something for himself that I experienced more than two decades ago, he thought about me.
I woke up this morning to three videos he had taken specifically for me of some of my favorite songs.
Including Sweet Dreams.
That alone would have gotten me.
Then there was more.
My child brought his mama home a Freaks on Parade 2026 Rob Zombie shirt and bandana.
And yes, I immediately put the shirt on.
Obviously.
Look at this fucking thing.
It is magnificent.
This Is the Part That Got Me ❤️
I don’t go to many concerts anymore.
There was a time when I absolutely would have been there. I would have bought the ticket, put on the boots, fought the crowd, screamed every lyric and probably come home half deaf and perfectly happy about it.
These days, my body has other opinions.
I’m tired. I’m run down. Life has kicked my ass in several different directions lately, and sometimes the things I used to do without thinking require considerably more calculation now.
And that’s okay.
Because this morning I realized there is another way to experience some of these things.
Through my kids.
I got to wake up, put on this incredible shirt and watch videos taken through my son’s eyes of musicians I’ve loved since before those eyes ever opened.
The same little boy I left with a sitter at four months old so Mama could go see Marilyn Manson grew up, went to see Marilyn Manson himself, heard one of my favorite songs and pulled out his phone because:
Mom would love this.
Goddamnit.
That’s the part.
That’s the whole fucking thing.
There are a million enormous ways people try to show each other that they love them.
Sometimes it’s much smaller than that.
Sometimes you’re standing in a sold-out auditorium with your girlfriend while Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson are blowing the roof off the place, and in the middle of all that noise you think about your mother.
You record her favorite songs.
You buy her a shirt.
You bring her home a bandana.
And the next morning, somewhere else, your mama is sitting there wearing that shirt with a giant smile on her face thinking:
My baby thought of me.
Twenty-something years ago, I pumped boobie milk, found a sitter and went to see Marilyn Manson.
Last night, that baby went without me.
And somehow, he brought a little piece of the concert home.
I think that’s pretty fucking beautiful. ❤️🤘
✦ enjoyed this entry?