It was Fourth of July weekend. The year was 1990. Tapered jeans, florescent-colored socks and scrunchies were all at the height of their popularity.

That fateful weekend, I was attending my first ever concert and it was a dandy. How this came to be, I still can't quite figure out, but my dad (who stopped listening to new music after Led Zeppelin peaked) had agreed to shuttle four (4!) 12-year-old girls to a New Kids on the Block concert on Harriet Island. Was he angling for a father of the year award or what?