• All the bands I used to listen to as a teen and young adult are on tour again this year.
• I’ve been going to more concerts and have felt a mix of feeling both young and old at the same time.
• At a recent punk rock show, I met a man in his 70s who reminded me to keep doing what I love.

I look back at my teen years and feel a little bad for my parents. They raised me listening to Opera and classical music, and I instead decided that punk rock was my thing.

I would sit in my room blasting bands like the Ramones, NOFX, and Bikini Kill, much to the annoyance of my parents. They thought it was a phase I would grow out of, just like they did with my fascination with tattoos and piercings.

Sadly for them, they were wrong. Now I’m my 40s I have plenty of tattoos and piercings, and thanks to my favorite bands reuniting, I’ve been going to a lot of punk concerts lately.

Recently, I went to see a Bowling for Soup concert in Portland, Maine, and I left the venue not only with ringing ears and tired feet but also with a reminder to keep being myself.

A stranger next to me gave me perspective

While watching the opening act at the tiny venue where the band was playing, I noticed a man in his 70s standing up close to the balcony, recording all the songs. I’ll admit I thought he was the dad of one of the band members because he stood out in a crowd filled with rainbow-colored hairdos and septum piercings.

When the opening act ended, he left, and I swiftly moved to the spot he left open. I was surprised when he came back to see the second opening band. He was kind and made room for me to see the stage, too.

We bopped our heads and smiled without much interaction at first. I wanted to ask him all the questions because I know my parents — who are of similar age — would’ve never in their lives gone to a punk show.

He knew all the songs

When Bowling for Soup finally took the stage, he was ecstatic. He wasn’t just there to see a family member play like I thought; he was here for the main act.

The band — known for their humor and banter between songs — played well into the night, and the man never stopped dancing and signing. At one point, they made a joke about how men are assholes, and when I raised my hands to clap, he looked at me with a sad face and said, “Hey, not all men!” When the band then said that women could also be assholes, I jokingly gave him a serious look so he wouldn’t cheer.

We became friendlier throughout the night, cheering on our favorite songs and singing along. I was transported back to high school when I thought I’d never fit in. I wished I had asked him how he was feeling; maybe a child introduced him to the band, or maybe he was a punk at heart.

Either way, he reminded me that there’s no such thing as being too old to enjoy something you truly love. And that punk is not dead.