The Boss Of Me

My good friends sent me to see a movie for my birthday. They gave me a certificate for tickets to see "Springsteen and I," which was a bit of a coup on their part. This is because I am generally the first person in my immediate circle of friends to know anything there is to know about Bruce Springsteen. If you've wandered into this corner of Blogspot enough times, you've probably bumped into one or more of my rambling fascinations about the man I call "Bruce." Mister Springsteen would be more in line with the level of respect which I hold this guy, but he is, after all, a guy. That's probably why that "Boss" thing seems to work so well as an alternative.
Back to the movie: It wasn't a concert film. It wasn't a documentary in the strictest sense. It was a compilation of stories from fans and their encounters with this singer from New Jersey. Some of them told tales of a lifelong obsession that began in the mid-seventies. Others spoke of fanaticism that dated back all the way to last April. The common thread, aside from Springsteen, was the way that all of these fans related to their idol. At some point in all of their stories, the thing that came through was how much they related to this rock and roll star.
On the way home from the movie, my wife, son and I took turns imagining what story we might tell if the cameras had been turned our way. My son started off, pointing out that the first sounds he heard in the world were that of the E Street Band playing "Born To Run." This was by no means coincidence, since it was my hand on the "play" button. My wife recalled the first time she saw Bruce way back from our seats on the lawn and said, "He's so tiny, but he's so happy." Jumping forward a couple decades, she reiterated her certainty that she had made eye contact with Bruce from her seat just behind the stage as he came back to make sure that we were all included in the festivities. Again: no coincidence. I bought those tickets.
I bought those tickets and dozens more over the years. I have camped out, been put on hold, and hit the refresh button in order to purchase some of the worst seats possible. Nosebleed? Obstructed view? Who cares? I'm in the auditorium. I have heard, over the years, stories of fans being "upgraded" at the last minute by The Boss's minions. There's one of those stories in the film. That's never happened to me. You might think that I would be bitter.
Not at all. I'm amazed by these stories and happy for the recipients of those magical moments. As I have said before, the important requirement was met: I was in the auditorium. While I watched the movie unfold, there were clips of concert footage spanning four decades of Springsteen's career. I've got ticket stubs from all of them. Not every show. Not front row. I've never been backstage. I don't care.
This man's music and words have touched me in ways that very little else has in my life. Through good times and bad, sad, lonely, scared, joyous, triumphant, Bruce Springsteen has provided me with the soundtrack. This single-minded devotion stands as a stark contrast to much of the rest of my cynical outlook on life, but it is a vital link to the things that matter the most: Love, Friendship, Life.
So, thanks for the tickets. Thanks, once again, for getting me into the auditorium.