Imposing stone castles and manicured gardens didn’t impress seven-year-old Aidan Gallagher. His hometown Dublin, steeped in History, boasted centuries-old buildings galore. From churches to fortresses to universities, rarely a day went by without Aidan spotting a steepled roof, a gilded gate, or a kaleidoscopic stained-glass window. He lived in a two-hundred-year-old house, went to school in a five-hundred-year-old institution, and worshiped in a nine-hundred-year-old church. Still, that early September evening at Slane Castle would be forever branded in his memory, and not only because of the majestic building overlooking impeccable green fields, but because of the event he attended that late summer night.

For the longest time, Aidan had begged his parents to take him to a rock concert. They didn’t think it was a safe place for kids. “Too crowded,” or “Too uncomfortable,” they would often reply. They lost that argument the day Aidan brought home from school three tickets to the VIP section of an upcoming concert.

Dumbfounded, his dad had stared at the rectangular pieces of paper for a while before eyeballing Aidan. “How did you come by these?”

“Eve gave them to me,” he had offered as an explanation, shrugged, and sat at his desk to start on homework.

“She goes to Aidan’s school,” his mom had informed his dad. “He overheard you the other day saying you missed the chance to buy tickets when they sold-out in the blink of an eye. I guess he figured her dad would be able to help with that, being the singer in the band and all.”

Aidan had hidden his embarrassment inside his notebook.

His ears had burned when his father squeezed him in a bone-breaking embrace and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, son.”

Rubbing his cheek on the long sleeve of his uniform, Aidan had begged, “Stop, Da.”

“I’ve got the right to embrace my only son when he does something so sweet. Guess mom and I will have to take you to this one with us.”

Aidan had quit the pretense, sprung from the chair, and wrapped himself around his dad’s ample torso before the man finished his sentence. “Thank you! Thank you!” he had squealed as he covered his dad with kisses.

Not surprisingly, on that first day of September, when the Gallaghers finished lunch, Aidan had been the first one out of the house, flying over the cobblestone-covered backyard toward the garage. The structure which once housed horses, now sheltered his father’s collection of cars, many of which were rare. After a near-fatal accident, Tim Gallagher had turned his back on Formula One racing and founded a chain of luxury car dealers which rapidly spread through Ireland and continental Europe. But cars had remained one of his passions.

Aidan climbed onto the backseat of the family car, a silver BMW X5, before Joan and Tim crossed the yard. “Eager, eh?” the retired economist turned romance writer taunted her son as she buckled up.

“Aren’t you?”

“Clearly not as much as you. Your father and I have seen them perform before.”

The one-hour drive north from Dalkey, along the bay, then inland until County Meath had been without incidents. Aidan’s anxiety had turned the trip into an endless journey, though. He had barely slept the previous night in anticipation of what laid ahead.

As his dad drove around the parking lot in search of a spot, Aidan glanced around trying to take in all that surrounded them. Once outside the car, as he followed his parents, he craned his neck and swirled not to miss a thing. Various white tents dotted the sprawling fields, scores of people roamed the grounds around the castle, while thousands filled the seats or stood in the general admission area.

The Gallaghers presented their tickets to staff members, who escorted them to the VIP section. Aidan soaked in the smells, the sounds, and the sights surrounding him. The entrance to the property with its imposing gray stone wall and black-and-gold iron gate should have made a big impression. If not, the square stone castle with its four turrets overlooking the open-air arena should have done it. For sure, watching Ireland’s national soccer team beat the Netherlands’ on the huge screens, along with thousands of other fanatic supporters, should have been memorable. However, what got etched in Aidan’s young brain was a red, heart-shaped catwalk encircling him like outstretched arms, and the unforgettable performance by four local musicians who had conquered the rock-and-roll world and returned home to celebrate it.

Above all else, his jaw had dropped as his eyes got stuck on the coolest man he had ever seen. Amid the energetic cheering from the crowd, while the lead singer sweat away in his black leather jacket, and Aidan’s guitar hero jumped up and down on the left hand of the stage, and the drummer banged the cymbals away in the martial beat of the band’s most famous anthem, its bassist kept his cool. He barely broke a sweat in a royal-blue long sleeves T-shirt and red-and-black stained pants. The man seemed untouched by the frenzy around him, on and off stage, while having the time of his life. There was a certain aura about him, a mystery that instigated Aidan’s imagination. The guy didn’t frown. He didn’t wear a bored expression. On the contrary, through the well-designed chaos of light and loud sounds that made the rock concert, a Monalisa-style smile played on his lips. An out-of-this-world blue light reflecting off his red instrument, while he plucked away his bass guitar. Aidan couldn’t take his eyes off the bassist and his bass.

He had no idea how many people had attended the concert. It felt like millions, and it felt like none other than him. The ramp around him created a comfortable illusion of intimacy, nobody crowded him, and his small height didn’t interfere with his fun. But the familiar songs and hypnotic performance certainly contributed to him shutting out the world and forgetting he was sharing those moments with thousands of other people.

After the encore, when the band left the stage for the last time and the multicolor lights returned slowly to their regular white, Aidan’s heart beat faster than the blond drummer’s sticks on the round leather surfaces of his drum set.

Aidan was hooked.

“Did you like it?” his mom inquired, tousling his dark-brown hair, as they waited for part of the crowd to exit, before following in the same direction.

He nodded, unable to use words to describe his emotions.

One thing had become crystal clear, and he communicated that to his parents. “I’ll be a rock star when I grow old.”