Blog article: Bruce Springsteen and the special children who love him

In the past few months there have been multiple heart-warming stories about special children who love Bruce Springsteen.

There's Juniper, a 5 year old who was born a micro preemie and listened to Springsteen music while in the incubator. "As you know so well, sound is a form of touch. We could see by the numbers on her monitors that your (Bruce Springsteen's) music calmed her when she was in pain and soothed her when she was upset. The monitors even told us that she had particular tastes. Her devotion to 'Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out' never wavered. ... She nearly died a million times, and when her heart rate bottomed out, 'Waitin' on a Sunny Day' always brought her back. She had never seen the sun, after all."

And Adam Booker, a 13-year-old living with intellectual/speech/visual disabilities, who met his idol Bruce Springsteen in Brisbane, Australia on Valentine's Day. "The once bullied child, who is home-schooled, learned to speak, read and write through the power of the lyrics."

A few days ago, I learned about Jack, a child in Australia with cerebral palsy, who loves Bruce Springsteen. Here's his story as written by his father Tony Wilson:

We were so unsure whether to take him to see Springsteen in Melbourne this week.

 

On the one hand, he is seriously obsessed. He watches "Bwuce" all day on YouTube. No greatest hits fan is Jack. He requests specific gigs, tracks, guest artists ('Bwian from Gaslight Anthem with Bwuce!'). He knows all the E-Street Band by name.

On the other hand, lack of vision and sensory processing issues mean he can't cope with loud music. He's made screaming exits from the school fete and dozens of other PA scenarios. He even hates rain if it's too loud on the roof.

So we thought he was no chance to cope. My prediction was two minutes max. My wife Tamsin convinced me we had to at least give him a shot.

All day he said he didn't want to go. "Maybe I'll see Bwuce later," he said over and over. Then he'd cry, begging not to go. "I want to see Bwuce another time! Not today!"

 

We set up the plans for our inevitable failure. My brother Ned offered to wait outside AAMI Park.

Jack flinched at the first blast of noise as we exited the train.

"Is that Bwuce?"

"No that's Jet," I said.

"Is there clapping at Jet?"

"Yes there will be clapping at Jet."

"Will Bwuce be on soon?"

 

"Yes, after Jet."

"And Steven Van Zandt?"

"Yes, he'll be on guitar."

"And Patti?"

"Yes, she'll be there too."

"Bwuce's wife, Patti?"

 

"Yes, she's Bruce's wife."

 

"And Nils?"

And so we namechecked the whole E-Street Band as we crossed the railway yards.

It got louder and louder, but he seemed to be coping.

Then a nervous moment. Security told me I couldn't take in a backpack.

I explained Jack's cerebral palsy. "Without this I reckon he's no chance," I said.

"Fair enough," said the most sensible security officer on earth, and ushered us through.

We found our way to the back of the ground section, using lifts and ramps that toured us halfway around the stadium.

 

We found our spots. Plenty of room. Not too loud at all. The calm before the storm.

"Will Bwuce play American Land?" Jack said, which is Bruce's thumping Pogues-ish ode to American immigration. Jack's favourite.

"Maybe," I said

"Will he play Badlands?"

"Definitely."

Then it started. The "Melboooourne", the clapping, the drums, the music. American Land it was.

Jack did the shrieking he does for the YouTube songs. His happy cheers. He called Bruce's name. He called Steven van Zant's name. He jiggled, he rocked, he had a ball.

 

For 12 songs.

One hour and ten minutes.

Then he broke. Youngstown broke him, and he asked to go home.

Ever since he has watched this video. Over and over and over.

His first words when he woke up the day after:

"I'm a Bwuce Springsteen fan. I'm a Bwuce Springsteen goer."