A Story of U2 Fandom and Sisterhood*

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HelloAngel

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By Robyn Parrish
2005.08



Eleven years my sister Danette's senior, I fancy myself her friend, mentor, guidance counselor and trendsetter. Certainly I like to think this is the case on at least one very important front, that of U2 fandom. In the spring of 1987, I, in my early 20s and she at the tender age of nine or 10, would sit cross-legged before the family television with a half-filled video tape at the ready while watching MTV so as to record our favorite clips. The rule was you were only allowed to push record if you caught the video prior to or during the opening titles that appear in the lower left of the screen. After that, it was declared too late and, thus, you would have an incomplete video. Better to wait until it came on again.

You can imagine my perfectionist's dismay when halfway through the taping of "With or Without You,” my kid sister turned the dial (yes, dial) in boredom. She had not yet heard of U2, understandably, since it was not exactly mainstream listening for her demographic. She was more interested in finding DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince's "Parents Just Don't Understand" on VH1. Great bickering ensued until the dial was flipped back to the decidedly hipper channel and the taping of "With or Without You” resumed. This, of course, wreaked havoc with my policy of video entirety.

I'm not sure, then, when her transformation occurred exactly. Perhaps it was in witnessing my extreme frustration at how she failed to see their greatness that she decided to investigate U2's power for herself. By the time the "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" video would make its debut, she was already hooked. It happened that quickly in her pre-pubescent heart. We had each purchased our own copies of "The Joshua Tree" and would obsess over the cover photos and replay of the botched "WOWY" video like a couple of high school girls (which she was not yet and I was no longer).

Our mutual love affair with U2 was born and there has been no turning back since. It is impossible to determine whether our fanaticism is the result of genetic or acquired factors. We tend to share similar tastes in men, clothing and humor as well, though we often go about executing our preferences very differently.

By 1989, Danette had literally wallpapered her bedroom with posters of our beloved Irish lads, sprinkled with the odd magazine clipping of Morrissey or Robert Smith. Each night when our mother tucked her into bed, she would make mom ritualistically recite the name of each U2 member (including original monikers Paul and Dave), along with their respective birthdays. Meanwhile, I was more reserved in my methods of worship, hording every record and video in the band's back catalog and reading up on its history via books and magazine articles. I would become the quiet expert while my sister would repeatedly win phone-in radio station trivia contests with the answers I provided because she was brave enough to call.

Eventually, we attended our first U2 concert together, during the opening North American leg of ZooTV. We purchased barely affordable B-stage seats from a neighborhood scalper and agreed the tickets were worth every penny. We have not missed a local gig together since. It's inconceivable that one of us would attend anything remotely U2-related without the other. Although we did bring a friend of hers and my now-ex-husband to a PopMart show, I don't think we'd make the mistake again of trying to impose our enthusiasm on others. It's simply better when it's just the two of us.

Over the years, we've attended the movie-theater premier of "Rattle and Hum," a laser show set to U2 music at a San Francisco planetarium and stood at the very tip of the heart on the Elevation Tour. In the summer of 2004, we made the long anticipated trek to Dublin to visit all the legendary landmarks for ourselves. A tolerant cab driver picked us up at the (U2-owned) Clarence Hotel one rainy afternoon and good-naturedly drove us to Mount Temple Comprehensive School, 10 Cedarwood Road and Windmill Lane for the requisite photo ops. The following day, a chatty record shop owner on Wellington Quay offered detailed directions to the Hewson house in Killiney. We had little time for this unplanned detour, but hopped on the first DART out of town and soon found ourselves on the surreal seaside path to our hero's home. From the foot of the famed front gates, my sister, daring as she is, plucked a small pink flower and had it pressed and framed.

11632cedarwood.jpg

Robyn and Danette in front of Bono's childhood home at 10 Cedarwood Road, Dublin

Dining at the Clarence's Tea Room that evening was truly one of the most cherished experiences I've had. We felt like royalty as our delicious food was presented in tiny portions centered on large china plates. We balanced the handsome silverware in our hands, simultaneously remarking, "Just think, Bono picked this stuff out!" Afterward, ever-brazen Danette grilled one of the hotel's employees, inquiring, "So, what's it like to work for Bono?" "It has its moments," was the reply.

The most thrilling culmination of our shared U2 antics thus far, however, has been the day we actually met Bono and The Edge in San Jose, California. In October of last year, the boys were giving a secretive, acoustic, VIP-only performance to launch their new black iPod. An acquaintance of Danette's, who had insider Hewlett-Packard information, tipped us off that they would be in town the following day so we ditched our work responsibilities and set off on a wild goose chase. My sister had the optimistic foresight to bring along her prized "Joshua Tree" LP, though I decided against bringing mine, thinking it unlikely that we'd even find U2 and afraid the 17-year old cardboard jacket would smudge in the drizzly weather. Through a series of detective maneuvers that would make Sherlock Holmes proud, we incredibly arrived at the publicly undisclosed theater at which Bono and Edge were performing, just in time to be told that they would soon be exiting through the back door. Outside we waited in orderly line, with about 30 other 30-something fans, until our idols emerged and were instantly swarmed like the rock stars they are. We pushed and shoved our way to the front of the heap as Danette screamed in desperate hysteria, "BONO – P-L-E-A-S-E!!" and waved her album at him. She claims their eyes met and he gently took the album in one hand while she held on to it with hers and, using the calligraphy marker I had remembered to bring ("just in case"), Bono scribbled his name across the desert sky. My sister also had the presence of mind to take clear, close-up snapshots of Bono, Edge and even band manager Paul McGuinness.

Afterward, riding on the high of that encounter, we drove to the nearest one-hour photo shop for processing, the two of us screaming and shouting and laughing and crying. We kept replaying the drama of each moment from the previous 24 hours that had led us to this chance meeting. We discussed what each of us was thinking, feeling, the excitement, led by doubt, led by promise, each step of the way. Finally I reflected at how the day's events were a perfect analogy for the differences in the way we each conduct our lives. I'm always the cautious one, playing it safe, never wanting to expose myself or get hurt. Danette, on the other hand, is a risk-taker, she goes for it and doesn't let fear or inhibition get in her way. She reaches for the prize, while I prepare for the worst. It would stand to reason that she'd be going home that day with an autographed "Joshua Tree" while my copy remained carefully stored in the armoire.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself despite the phenomenal luck at having actually seen Bono and The Edge in person, face-to-face. As I voiced these feelings to my baby sister, she assured me that she never would have gotten there by herself. She reminded me that this was a joint effort and that she wouldn't have even been interested in going it alone. This thawed my jealousy and helped me to see that each of us plays an important role for the other. That's also when I recognized the true gift U2 has been to us all these years, not merely having a significant impact musically, emotionally and spiritually, it has been the glue that holds our sisterhood together. Rarely does a phone conversation or e-mail go by without one of us mentioning that we heard a particularly rare song of theirs on the radio or reporting the latest band news we've read. Nobody else on the planet shares our love or U2 experiences exactly the way we do and nothing can break that bond. Despite miles or marriages or misunderstandings that might temporarily divide us along the way, we will always have U2 and, therefore, we will always have each other.
 
Thanks to everyone for your kind comments. The story was so much fun to write and keeps reminding me of the real reasons we all love U2. Their music unites us with its messages of love and hope and humanity. I will always be grateful for the gift it has been, and grateful that I have a wonderful sister to share it with. :)
- Robyn
 
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