Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away
NS October 6th, 2009
While driving in the car the other day, I put in a classic rock mixed cd that I made a few years ago and skipped forward to the third track — “Dream On” by Aerosmith, circa 1973 (song and lyrics here).
As I belted out the lyrics and slapped my palms on the steering wheel in time to the riffs, rocking out in a big way, I realised that the children had been silent for a couple minutes. Knowing that silence is very rarely a good thing, I sat up a little higher in my seat and strained to get a glimpse of TNC in my rearview mirror. She had a face like thunder and was looking very cross indeed. I turned the music down a notch and asked her very breezily, “What’s wrong, muffin?”
“Stop singing, Mummy! You can’t sing.”
“Oh yes, I can. I’m a wonderful singer!”
“No! You’re not. No more singing.”
“What, you mean like this? (cue more crazed rocking out)
“Noooooo! Stop it this minute, Mummy.”
“…sing for the laughter, sing for the tear. Sing with me, if it’s just for today…”
“Aaagggh! Stop, Mummy, stop! This song is not for Mummies, it’s for children.”
“It’s for children, is it?”
“Yes. Children and babies.”
“Honey, this song was recorded before you or I were even alive, but at least I grew up listening to it. This is called Classic Rock and it is the greatest music in the whole, wide world. And this particular song is…”
“No! Be quiet! Only for children and babies, I said! Not mummies or daddies. You can’t sing it, only I can.”
“Go on then, let’s hear it. I’ll be thrilled if you know the words to Steven Tyler’s masterpiece from Aerosmith’s debut album, before all of the scarf and mic stand-tossing, big hair, and videos where the camera goes inside his mouth, which is just creepy, frankly.”
stony silence from the backseat
“That’s what I thought. Now, up next is ‘Big Yellow Taxi’ by Joni Mitchell. You’re going to love that one. Mummy will be singing in a very high voice and then doing a funny little laugh at the end. Prepare yourself, ’cause I ain’t dialin’ it down for no one, including you, Little Miss.”
She didn’t speak again until we arrived at our destination. Which was kind of nice, you know?
Still, I’m not sure if I’m instilling a love of this music into her, or if I’m driving her straight into the arms of emo pop, or whatever the hell kind of music kids listen to now (I’m not even stuck on my generation’s music, but on that of my parents’ — what hope is there for me keeping up with the new crap coming out these days)?
No, I will always love my classic rock and sing it very loudly in the car and the kids will just have to start wearing earplugs and perhaps masks so their friends don’t recognise them when they get older and I’m gyrating wildly to “Paint It Black” at a red light, frothing slightly at the mouth.
This is a fun bit of parenting, I have to say. I like it.
