When we last left our heroes, they had just fended off a
couple glasses of bourbon and a slightly exaggerated attack from a homeless
person and found themselves in the historic Chicago Theatre for a YouTube stars
show.
I was still operating under my secret agreement with myself
not to poop on Elijah’s fun, despite my severe reservations about the YouTube
stars. As we settled into our seats, having purchased many candies and a
t-shirt, I was struck by the crowd’s enthusiasm. I assumed the attendees would
sit slack jawed and dead eyed, which is the proper expression for watching YouTube
stars. Dang it, Rick. Stop being a cynic. The kids, and they were 99% kids,
were diverse, positive and happily queer-supportive. This was a club I was
happy my son was part of.
The curtain rose and the capacity crowd went nuts. Like
Beatles on Ed Sullivan nuts. Screaming. Shouting. Whoo-hoo-ing. So much
screaming. This, despite a performance by the YouTube stars that was not
exactly flawless. At no point in the show did all four YouTube stars’ mics work
at the same time. And I like to think if you gave me and my pals $2,000 and an
afternoon we could have written a funnier show. Dang it. Sorry. I’m doing it
again. Eli loved it and that’s what counts. Plus, I found a few moments to
enjoy, mostly around the self-described “gay one,” who was appropriately fantastic.
About halfway through the show, one of the YouTube stars performed
a multi-media presentation about being a dad. He then asked if there were any
dads in the audience. Not thinking through the possible consequences, I stood
up and shouted, “I am a dad!”
Next thing I know Eli and I were being ushered onstage.
I had never been onstage at The Chicago Theater. Nor had I ever
been screamed at by thousands of children. As someone with anxiety issues, I don’t
recommend it.
We were there to play a game. This game involved three dads dancing
for the love of their kids. Dancing. I do not dance. I don’t dance at weddings.
I don’t dance at funerals. I don’t dance at YouTube star shows. I briefly
considered just walking out of the theater and not stopping until I reached the
shores of Evanston. But the look on Eli’s face was, dare I say, pride?
So I danced. I Dabbed. I Flossed. I Robot-ed.
Unfortunately, the…eh…Rubenesque gentleman next to me played
to his strength. His size made his dancing hilarious to the crowd. To which I
say, not cool, crowd. I could sense my impending loss looming large, like a 280
pound bearded man in a trucker hat. I had to throw a Hail Mary.
I had to do the Worm.
Had I done The Worm since 1987? No, I had not. Did I know
the proper technique for The Worm? No, I did not. But there I was, flopping on
the filthy Chicago Theatre stage for the enjoyment of absolutely no one. Blood was
pumping in my ears so loudly that I didn’t actually hear myself loose to the fat
guy.
As the YouTube stars sent us on our painfully long walk back
to our seats, Eli held my hand. His expression was still…almost pride? Mixed
with a little pity.
For the rest of the night, kids would stop and shout, “You’re
the dad!” In line at the bathroom, waiting for a beer to steady my nerves, out
on the street. You’re the dad! You’re the dad!
And for a couple minutes I did feel like I was the dad.
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