Tuesday

I'm still on the subject of Sunday night's concert, perhaps casting it as a parable of the effect authority can have on youth. Or Maybe I'm contemplating a parable about the obnoxious gulf exhibited by expat VIP children without a lick of respect or cultural awareness. Or maybe the following story just happened, and by watching it and writing it down, I've tailored it to illustrate a disconnect that's entirely arbitrary, creating a parable of observational ethics. Near us in the VIP section of Army Stadium was a group of North American kids radically keyed-up over My Chemical Romance. They were running around, standing on the chairs, egging each other on. Stadium security, charged with regulating the sectional seating, were intent on not letting them run wild. Several times the uniformed security guards had to stop the kids from entering other areas, including the VIP bar area where we were sitting. They told them to get down off the chairs. The kids jeered at them "we're VIPs" they'd scream, trying to dart around behind uniformed backs, to do what they were just told not to. Typical kid power, as my mom used to call it, from privileged tweens lacking regard for the authority of the stadium's young, uniformed security. By the time the band started, security's respect had also run out: the phalanx of guards stood in front of the group, blocking their view, shining lights in their faces whenever they'd cheer, placing a hand on their shoulder to reseat them whenever they'd stand. I was wickedly pleased by the display, though that seems petty now. I'd been annoyed, too. Did the group of children return home complaining about the Vietnamese? Did the Vietnamese likewise walk away with a foul feeling for jerk white kids? I don't know. [Cavin]