It is my hope that if I have a daughter, she will be as free-spirited and passionate as I am about the things she loves. In fact, I hope her dreams are bigger than mine and keep her eyes bright and that she remains carefree and light and happy even on her worst days.

When she comes to me at that early preteen stage with her cheeks flushed because of the first time she falls in love, I will sit there and listen to her. When she says it’s a band that plays music she connects with, I will nod and smile. When she tells me about the four, five or six musicians she’s fallen head over heels in love with, I will pay close attention to their names and what instruments they play.

I will not kill the passion and excitement in her voice or dismiss her “crush.” When she asks me if we can riddle her walls with thumbtack holes and posters of them, I will nod and hold the tacks in my hands as she finds the perfect place to hang them up. When I am driving her to school in the morning, I will patiently listen to their music as she enthusiastically sings along and bangs her head to the heavy bass and drums. I will smile when she lets out a happy little sigh as she stares out the window.

I will accompany her into Hot Topic to buy her shirts of their logo and faces. I will feel nostalgic of the first trip I took into the dimly lit store for my own band T-shirt. I will let her pick out all of their band merchandise in the store and quietly chuckle as she squeals when she spots something with their name on it.

When she comes running home from school, waving her arms and screaming, I will put my book down and listen intently as she tells me about their upcoming tour and how they’re only going to be an hour away. At dinner when she begs and pleads to go to a once in a lifetime show, I will smooth her hair and reassure her that I will get tickets as close to the stage as possible, and I will go with her.

And I will do all of this because I will remember exactly what it was like to be her, at the same age falling in love with a band that didn’t know of my existence. I will understand how she feels when her friends and classmates ostracize her for loving a group of musicians more than almost anything else in her world.

But most importantly, I will do all of this because my own mother did the same for me. And I remember and appreciate every single moment of it. More often than not, my mother never understood why I loved the bands that I loved, but she understood that it was important to me. She never told me it was ridiculous or that it was a phase or that I should grow up. She didn’t tell me it was a waste of my time.

She surprised me with tickets to shows, sat in one hundred degree weather in a stuffy amphitheater and drove over three hours so that I could stand in a crowd of sweaty people and cry and scream my heart out. She spent hours outside with me waiting for my favorite band to come on stage. She suffered from terrible headaches after raucous bands played hours before mine would get to.

And I promise to do this for as long as I can for my daughter, and it is my hope that she will do the same for hers.