In Boston

"Hey! Wake up! It's five thirty; I've been telling you to get up for half an hour now! We gotta GO!

I glanced over at the red display of my digital clock as my mom walked away, my eyes not quite functioning yet. It read five twenty seven, but as scary as that was, I ignored it for the time being. What was more frightening was the thin layer of frost that covered the twenty-seven. I hate getting out of bed, especially when it's below freezing in my bedroom.

"Wake UP man! WE'RE GOING TO U2!

My younger brother smacked my bed with his fist, and then ran downstairs, singing at the top of his lungs. That woke me up. I rose out of bed, dressed, and climbed into the minivan with the rest of my family, bound for downtown Boston.
I had a massive headache, but only because I had refused the Aspirin my mom offered me earlier. I see medications like that as a way to acquiesce and say to your ailment "you win. I find it very, very hard to give up in a battle I feel I can win.
My dad apparently didn't notice that I wasn't feeling well, and turned on the car radio. He scrolled through a few stations until he found The Who. My mom looked back at me questioningly, but I didn't say anything. I also find it hard not to "just go with the flow. It's not that I'm passive, it's more that I don't like to be the cause of anything that will anger anyone else, even just a little, and I could tell that dad and my brother were enjoying the radio. They were even singing along. "Tell me: Whooooo are you?
The song ended and my dad put in a U2 cd to get everyone fired up for the concert later on, but I tuned it out: the end of 'Who are you?' was still running through my mind. I wasn't sure what The Who were getting at with that question, or even what kind of an answer they were looking for. It sounded catchy, but upon closer examination, it seemed like an absurd thing to ask. Any truthful answer would be at least ten times as long as the song itself. With U2 accompanying me in the background, I decided to see if the question was even answerable at all.
Lists of traits flitted around in my mind. Tall, skinny, brown hair, white, blue eyes, seventeen years old. I quickly realized that kind of information does absolutely nothing to describe who someone is. It only helps people put your face on a missing persons flier, or decide how to fill out your driver's license. Those traits could be anyone in millions of people.
I obviously had to narrow it down further. Vegetarian, future democrat, musician, student, brother. This combination of traits eliminated most of the millions, But not all of them. Surely there are at least a hundred democrat vegetarian musicians in college who have siblings, and also resemble my mug shot. Right then, I could have been any one of them.
With U2, accompanied live by my Dad and brother, this deeper search for the characteristics that defined me proved a task beyond the capacity of my un-asparined head. So I called off the search for the time being, not out of despair, but out of respect for the question: I didn't want to come to a mediocre conclusion.
I shelved the question for the whole day, while we waited outside of U2's hotel in the freezing cold, hoping they would come out and we could talk to them. I would have liked to be visiting other areas of Boston, but I went with the flow, and managed to have fun with the situation, making jokes, greeting some passersby. The band never appeared so we decided to have some lunch in their hotel, just to warm up. Revived, we waited for another 3 hours, but in the end the only exciting occurrences were the brief sighting of the bassist's brother, and a quick glimpse of Manny Ramirez of the Red Sox, who apparently lived in the hotel.
Later on, inside the concert hall (the Banknorth Garden) listening to the opening band 'Institute', I realized that my tastes describe me much more efficiently than physical characteristics. It was quickly becoming obvious to me that hardcore alternative rock wasn't my cup of tea. I preferred tasteful melodies on electric guitar, jazz; jeans, polo shirts, and orange juice. These thing painted a much more vibrant picture of me than my height and weight, but still failed to capture something essential that I couldn't put my finger on.
Halfway through the concert I discovered a new defining trait: light sensitivity. One of U2's songs involved some dramatic lights and flashes, fluorescents and very bright flashes of light. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't handle it. I passed out. Ten seconds later I came to, thinking first "why am I being dragged along the ground?, and then, "I bet those other musician vegetarians wouldn't have fainted because of a lights show. But while the doctors made sure I wasn't dying, handed me a water and a Sprite and a Snickers bar, I realized that while it was not a desirable trait, if it made me stand out from those other vegetarian brother democrat musicians who like orange juice, and got me Snickers bars at the same time, it was worth the price of complete embarrassment.
I missed the end of U2's next song while my blood pressure was being checked, and chose to go back into the concert over going to the hospital. I felt weak and dizzy for a few minutes, but came fully alive again when I heard Bono belting out:

You are the first one of your kind
Everywhere you go, you shout it
You don't have to be shy about it.

I realized that while all of the things I had thought of earlier did define me, what really answers The Who's question are the choices we make, the things that can't be used in a game of twenty questions. What truly defines me is when I choose to sleep in. When I go out and start my mom's car for her in the morning. When I tell a classmate that I'd rather not booze myself silly on a Friday night. When I call my dad just to talk. When I hold the door open for a mother carrying her two small children. When I tell someone I love them.
I knew then that there was only one person on earth, at that moment and forever, who would wake up with a headache and refuse Aspirin, endure loud music for the sake of others' contentment, go to a five-star restaurant and order a tea, freeze to death and call it fun, pass out and make jokes with the doctors, and tell the homeless man drumming on his plastic barrel outside that he sounded great -- all in one day. Me.