I'm not surprised by this, but my son is starting to collect--for lack of a better word--groupies. When we go out in public, hordes of women want to meet him, talk to him, flirt with him and remark on how much they love his hair. I imagine this must be what happens to Justin Bieber when he goes out in public--although his groupie demographic is slightly younger than the middle-aged women who are so in love with LO.
I, of course, am the celebrity handler. Luckily, LO is not too much of a diva. (Although he does demand a special, premium-label milk that comes from only one source in the world. Next he'll want Evian). Like many rock stars, LO rolls with the punches. He's not even sure where the tour bus is headed when he boards, but he finds a way to enjoy himself, ingratiate himself with the locals, and puke on something wherever he lands. I, as handler, do have to remind him of where we are, so he doesn't offend anyone when he screams "Cleveland rocks!" when we are in fact, at the library.
My hope, as handler, is to not become just another yes-woman in the life of my little rock star, as I already have some tendencies in that direction. I will admit that I laugh really hard at all of his jokes. (They're all very similar. He makes a face with his rubbery little mouth, and I crack up.) Once LO starts making more diva-like demands, I suspect I will be a little more hard core than I am right now. Since the things that my little rock star demands these days are basic needs--sleep, food, clean clothes, and someone to pick up his pacifier from where he spit it out--I have no qualms about always saying yes to him. Someday soon, however, I'm going to have to make it clear that as manager and handler I am the one in charge. He may be the talent, but I'm the one making decisions.
Luckily for LO, he's got six ENORMOUS fans. Grandparents make the best groupies. They are under no obligation to say no to the talent.