I’m cool again.

I was worried there for a minute that I might not be. There were warning signs: A sudden affinity for golf on TV, caps worn frontwards, pulled-up calf-length socks with cargo shorts, hairy ears.

But it’s okay now because I took my son to a rock concert.

So, yes, I am one of “those hipster parents.”

The decision to take my 12-year-old son to a rock concert was not undertaken lightly, trust me. Finding music that we both enjoy is like getting a manatee and a mountain lion to agree on dinner. Fortunately, a piano playing rocker (not Billy Joel, shoot!) announced a tour stop, and we had our man. I’m also picky about venues. I only go to outdoor venues that serve brisket sandwiches. Fortunately, this is Austin.

One problem with outdoor venues that serve brisket sandwiches is that some tall dude can come along and stand in front of you to eat his brisket sandwich, obscuring your view of the stage. Perfect solution: bring a kid! Tap the offending tallster on the shoulder, motion to the kid (coached to look pitiful) and say, “Dude [you have to say ‘Dude’ or they won’t turn around], it’s his first concert, Dude. So give little Dude a break, Dude.” Works every time. Why did we have kids, after all?

Some concerns: explicit lyrics, smoking and alcohol consumption, young couples sucking face, so we got out of the house early before all that could get started. JK. (That stands for “Just Kidding” in text language for those of you that are too old to LOL.)

Those things also happen at concerts, which allowed me to be efficient. I gave the “sex talk” and the “drug talk” all at the same time. The loud music was a plus because it seemed to really cut down his embarrassment.

On the way home, I regaled him with tales of my first concert — Styx, The Grand Illusion Tour — so he would know about our family coolness history. He nodded off. And I was completely cool with that.