I’m of that “certain age” where the music I listened to as a teenager is still being performed live—but mostly by tribute bands.

And honestly? I’m perfectly fine with that.  Tribute bands are great. You get the music you love… and you can still afford dinner afterward.

This past month I was lucky enough to see two tribute concerts—one for the Eagles and one for Simon and Garfunkel. Both were fantastic.

About 90% of the audience was the senior crowd. The rest were either their kids (who might also have been their drivers!) or younger people who somehow recognized good music even if it was written long before they were born.

Either way, it was comforting to know the music had survived longer than most of our knees.

Now, sometimes the “senior” crowd gets criticized for being set in their ways. But what I saw at these concerts was something else entirely.

People were thoughtful and considerate. We all patiently waited while concertgoers with walkers and canes carefully made their way down the rows. We chatted with our neighbors about when we first heard the music and what our favorite songs were.

When the band started playing, we all swayed in our seats, bobbed our heads, and added a little shoulder action to the beat.

It wasn’t exactly the wild dancing of our youth… but it was enthusiastic.

It was still our music… even if our bodies reacted a bit differently than they did 50 years ago.

Watching the Eagles tribute band was especially entertaining. The musicians themselves weren’t exactly young either—but wow, could they sing and play.

Their stage moves were… shall we say… a little more age-appropriate.

Mostly, they stood in one spot while playing. But every once in a while, one of the guitarists would try to lift a leg dramatically while playing, and my heart jumped into my throat. I silently prayed he wouldn’t throw out a hip.

Rock and roll is exciting… but orthopedic surgery is expensive.

At one point, two of the guitar players stood back-to-back while playing. Honestly, I’m pretty sure they were holding each other up. Which, when you think about it, is actually a very smart strategy.

But here’s the thing about concerts.

Some people go to see the band.
And some people go to be seen.

In the second row there were a few younger concertgoers who stood up and danced.

And danced.

And danced.

And danced.

You get the idea.

They never sat down.

Now normally that wouldn’t bother me, except the rest of us were sitting behind them trying to actually see the band. We wanted to listen, reminisce, maybe record a song or two on our phones to capture a little piece of our youth.

But we couldn’t see a thing.

When we politely asked them to sit down, they responded with a colorful vocabulary lesson instead.

Eventually an usher stepped in and after a rather dramatic standoff they finally sat down—though not before turning around and giving the entire audience the finger.

Ah yes. Youth.

It got me thinking about how life changes as we age.
When we’re younger, the world often feels like it revolves around us. But as the years go by, something shifts. 

We start noticing the people around us a little more. We begin to understand that we’re all sharing the same space, the same experience—even the same concert row.

And sometimes, even when we’re sure we’re right, it’s not really about the good of the one.

Sometimes it’s about the good of the many.

Maybe that’s one of the quiet gifts of getting older.

We begin to understand that life isn’t just about standing in the front row.

It’s about making sure everyone behind us can see the show too.

-Peni

P.S. One of the lessons I try to share in my children’s books is that the world isn’t just about us—it’s about the people around us too. Sometimes the best view in life isn’t from the front row… it’s from understanding everyone else’s view as well.