One of my daughters was with me at the time, and the conversation went a bit like this:
“Matt Goss sent a DM to my friend!”
“This would be the equivalent of Harry Styles sending you a DM in 2039.”
Rach prefaced the message to me with, “Em, you are one of the few people I know who will appreciate the momentous-ness of this,” and indeed I do. Not just because a bone fide heartthrob from our youth whose posters many of us had on our bedroom walls, replied to her directly (with a kiss emoji, no less), but because my clever, accomplished, talented and compassionate friend is willing to own her life-long passion for the band wildly and freely, and doesn’t care who knows about it.
She is a member of a Facebook Group called “Aussie Brosettes“, which is currently dedicated to a social-media frenzy designed to entice Bros to include Australia in their 2017 comeback performance schedule. (If this calls to you, send a request to join, and they’ll furnish you with hashtags galore.)
Whether the band tours here or not, Rach has a VIP meet-and-greet ticket to one of their UK shows (and no idea yet how’ll she’ll get there). She made the decision after asking the universe to “send her a sign”, right before pulling out in front of this truck on the motorway:
If the surname and band name weren’t enough of a match, the phrase “Come join the family” and number plate GBT and ’17 were solid signs. Universe or not, she booked, and is going with a lifelong friend who she met at 14 in the Bros section of a record shop.
My late husband, Jeff, probably wouldn’t have known Bros had he fallen over one of them. Of all the wonderful things that he was, “80s pop music tragic” was not on the list. His music passions were eclectic, and he was just as vocal about his love of Springsteen (a mainstream admiration) as he was of his passion for bluegrass (a bit more ‘niche’).
On weekends, he would paint tiny soldiers. He was amassing an Army when he died, with the intention of war-gaming with his best friend, Roger.
There are people who might ridicule war-gamers, and people who might laugh at middle-aged “Brosettes”. This post isn’t about those people.
This is about owning what you love. No “guilty pleasures”. No “secret passions”. No apologising or disclaiming. Just “THIS IS ME AND I LOVE THIS”.
Jeff won’t get to go war-gaming now. I’m left with hundreds of little men, lined up in plastic containers on the shelf. How I wish he’d made the time …
And how I LOVE that Rach is a Chief Brosette, making a dream come true in her 40s on behalf of who she is now, and her teenaged self. There are so many serious issues to worry about in the world and, while Jeff and Rach never met, they shared deep concern for many of them. But sometimes a message we need to hear falls off the back of a truck. Shouldn’t we honour the lightness in our lives while we can?
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