As thousands of fishnet-draped teenagers, some wearing T-shirts saying "Kill Your Parents," waved their middle fingers and chanted, "We love hate! We hate love!" one mother sat nervously in the Quiet Room at the D.C. Armory, crocheting.

When the shock rock band's lead singer, Marilyn Manson, screamed, "God bless America," and pulled an American flag between his legs like toilet paper, another mother sat at a table by the window and pulled baby blue thread through a needle.

While the young Marilyn Manson fans -- their lips painted black, their eyes lined in red rouge, their faces powdered morgue-white, their bodies covered in funeral attire -- banged their heads and slammed their bodies over a sea of hands, another mother anxiously watched TV.

As the band played at the D.C. Armory Friday night, a handful of parents waited in a small room not far from the stage -- but a world away from the concert. The parents, some from Rockville, Baltimore and Fairfax and Howard counties, tried desperately to figure out what drew their kids to this "Antichrist Superstar" concert and tried to explain why they had escorted their children to what other adults condemned as a concert of iniquity.

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"I'm not happy at all about this," said a Fairfax County mother, Olga, who didn't want her last name used. Her 15-year-old son was somewhere alone in that crowd. "If I had put the law down, he would not have been here. But then he would start acting out. Maybe this will scare the hell out of him, and he won't want to come back to any other concerts." Olga wrapped her coat around her and sank into a chair. The blasting music was thinned by the walls between her and her son. "They all should seek therapy," she said.

Pat Kristensen, of Columbia, hoped that her son, who dyed his hair red, was just going through a phase. "You pick and choose your fights," Kristensen said.

Mary Hambrick's daughter was somewhere in the crowd. "There are worse things they can do, you know," reasoned Hambrick, of Baltimore.

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Kit, who didn't want her last name used, and her daughter were fugitives from home that night. "My husband thinks we're someplace else," Kit whispered. "He heard the stuff about the lyrics saying something about oral sex. As soon as {the daughter} mentioned the concert to him, he went off. There was no discussion." Not wanting to disappoint her daughter, Kit took her anyway. "I don't back up lying. We've got a very open relationship. I don't want her lying. I don't want her going behind my back."

The D.C. Armory had offered the Quiet Room to parents after officials learned that many of Marilyn Manson's fans are not old enough to drive.

"Our thinking was, here is a group that has a teenage following," said Neville Waters, marketing manager for the D.C. Sports Commission, which manages and operates the D.C. Armory. "Some parents are concerned from a safety standpoint. It gives them comfort to be here." In the wood-paneled lounge of the Quiet Room were a sofa, two soft chairs, a dozen cafeteria-style chairs, a table, a bucket holding bottles of water and a television tuned to "Knots Landing." The only father in the room paced back and forth like a caged panther. One mother curled up in a corner with a worn paperback. Each time a teenager was wheeled past the room from the mosh pit to the first-aid station down the hall, the parents raced to the door to make sure the afflicted was not theirs.

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The parents had come to this room as strangers but emerged with a special bond. They talked about what it was like having their children not to want to be seen with them, and about their children's costumes for the night. Faith Hood, of Falls Church, took the subway with her 15-year-old son and two of his friends. "They all came over the house after school," Hood said. "It's kind of funny seeing guys fight over the mirror to put on their makeup. I keep teasing him that it's a good thing his grandfather is not alive to see him wear lipstick."

"My son doesn't think things like this happened before," said Linda Sharolli, of Fairfax Station. "I told him Alice Cooper was the Marilyn Manson of the '70s." CAPTION: While her teenage son and his friends groove to Marilyn Manson inside the D.C. Armory, Faith Hood relaxes in the Quiet Room.

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