We are three rows up, center stage, a couple of feet from the pit, which has been rolling hard since, literally, the opening, heavy chords of “BABYMETAL DEATH,” the traditional first song of the night for the band.

We have seats, but there’s no sitting.

And even in the ascending rows, the kid wouldn’t have been able to see had she remained standing on the floor. Luckily, she didn’t have to.

Earlier that night, we made friends with the three young men sitting behind us. They came for Halestorm but stayed and rocked out with Babymetal.

“How old are you?” one asked Uma as we all settled in with popcorn and chicken tenders before the show.

“11,” she said.

“Whoa, is this your first concert?”

She laughed. I laughed. “She’s been a little rocker for years,” I told them.

“I saw AC/DC,” she said. All three of them went, “Ohhhhhhhhhh!”

And that was it. We were friends for the rest of the night. It’s a good thing to make buds with the people around you at a rock show. Forming a little team always works to your advantage.

So, when Babymetal hits the stage, and everybody in the lower sections jumps to their feet and basically stays there for the rest of the night, I turn to the guys and say, “Hey, is it cool if she stands on her chair? If it’s too much, just tell us.”

“Go for it, little dude!” they shout. “Rock out!”

She and I have been to many shows together, some loud, some not so much. Some far from the stage, some so close we could touch the performers. But somehow, this was different.

She climbs up on that seat and, in order to brace herself, she has to put her arm around my shoulders. Sometimes, she’ll jump and move so much that she’ll let go, and I’ll put my arm around her waist to brace her.

After all our shows, all our travels, so much music, so many miles, there we were, my daughter, leaning on me as she jumps and yells and screams in my ear; the sound and thunder of the music echoing in my chest, the people around us leaping and cheering, lights blinding us, singing the music together… perfect. This is perfect.

At one point, during the famous Babymetal song “Gimmi Chocolate,” a dozen giant beach balls with the band’s logo appear and start being batted around the lower levels. I see one drift up in a long arc toward us and begin its descent right above us. I move my hand up under her arm because I know what’s coming. Everyone around us does as well. The boys behind us begin to yell.

The ball gets about four feet above our heads, and I can feel her tense. She leaps up and whacks the ball high into the air, back toward the stage, laughing and shouting. Everyone around us cheers. As she comes down, she’s well away from her chair, so I grab her under the arms and catch her fall, lowering her to the floor. She knew I’d be there.

“Daddy, I got it!”

“Nice shot,” I yell as she climbs back up into her seat and puts her arms back around my neck. Such a simple moment. Such great joy.

My daughter and I lift our heads to the rafters and scream as loudly as we can. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than in a crowd of thousands, with her hand on my shoulder, under the red spotlights, my heart pounding in time to the beat. We are healed and given life. May the music never end.

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Here are a couple of minutes of pit chaos from the song “Metali.” Hey, you know, as long as you’re watching, why not subscribe to our YouTube channel!

Dan Szczesny is a long-time journalist, author, and librarian living in New Hampshire. He’s written several books of travel memoir, poetry, non-fiction, and hiking guides. Along with his daughter, Dan writes a daily Substack newsletter called Day By Day, and he edits his daughter’s music interview Substack called Interviews By Uma. https://danszczesny.substack.com/