Real Life. Real News. Real Voices.
Help us tell more of the stories that matter from voices that too often remain unheard.
Join HuffPost Plus

Prettier Than John Stamos

I went to the Beach Boys concert because John/Uncle Jesse/Blackie Parish is not just eye candy; he is the equivalent of Belgian truffles for the eye.
This post was published on the now-closed HuffPost Contributor platform. Contributors control their own work and posted freely to our site. If you need to flag this entry as abusive, send us an email.

Even though I spent over $300 to buy two front row tickets to the Beach Boys concert at the state fair, I still roll my eyes at the Beach Boys' music. I'm a head banger from the '80s. I don't want to hear a bunch of geriatric men harmonize over surfing and bikini-clad girls. They would probably all need hip surgery if they tried to surf. The only reason I sold my soul to the Stub Hub devil and bought those tickets was because John Stamos, my number one fake boyfriend, was joining them on tour.

Now, being the mom of a musician, I didn't go to see if John Stamos was a great drummer or guitarist (he plays both instruments, believe it or not). I went to the Beach Boys concert because John/Uncle Jesse/Blackie Parish is not just eye candy; he is the equivalent of Belgian truffles for the eye. The man is beautiful. I really do think he bathes in the blood of kittens. He must. While he doesn't seem to be the sharpest block of cheddar in the dairy case, John is so visually perfect that it pains me that he does not have children. He needs to make babies now while he's still too young to star in Viagra commercials.

So, in short, I'm a shallow middle-aged woman with a girl boner for John Stamos. There's got to be a 12-step meeting somewhere for people like me. While I did enjoy staring at the yogurt god, and taking pictures from the front row, it wasn't the coolest thing that happened at the concert.

Before John and the Beach Boys hit the stage, I was sitting there, singing and chair dancing to "A Horse with No Name," by the first band on stage, America. I was in heaven, sitting right up front, eating a very large hot pretzel with a super bad for me Diet Coke, just waiting for the Greek god to take the stage. Then, I met the young man who sat next to me with his father. At least, I'm pretty sure it was his father. I didn't ask.

This young man was about 16 or 18, 6 feet tall, and autistic. He came in two songs into America's set, and then sat by me for about half of the show. The other half, he was on the floor next to the stage, or walking around, or lying on his father. He was wearing a Beach Boys shirt, and, during the brief intermission, his father explained that he took him to any Beach Boys show within driving distance. They had driven down from Michigan, three hours away, for this show.

The Beach Boys had met him, and knew he would be right up front. They waved to the young man from the stage. Most of the time, he didn't really see them, but that didn't stop them from trying. Once or twice, he really focused on them, and smiled. I had just met the boy, but that smile brought tears to my eyes.

I don't know his name, or his father's name, or if that man even was his father. I do know that the man, father or not, has the patience of a saint. I know that he will do anything for the young man. I know that like a lot of parents, or caregivers, or friends, he will drive for hours just to see the young fellow smile.

That, my dear readers, is what is really beautiful in this world. Don't get me wrong. John Stamos is still the best looking man on the planet, and I will continue to buy his yogurt and anything else he sells. The truth is though, that physical beauty will never be more beautiful than real love.