We were sitting outside on a balmy, summer Beaufort evening, listening to live music with our grandsons ages 3 and 6, when the guitarist asked if the boys had any requests. When they didn’t immediately reply, he offered up “Baby Shark,” as a popular possibility. They both shook their heads, slightly disgusted, and one asked for “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” and the other yelled out, “Grateful Dead!” The guitarist enthusiastically complied, and the boys danced their little hearts out while the audience sang along, “A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh!”
No “Wheels on the Bus,” for this crew, which greatly pleases us as we hope to pass on some of our favorite music. Although, we may have gone a little overboard because the six-year-old walked up to a Spartanburg police officer this week and announced that he had shot the sheriff, but absolutely did not shoot the deputy. Luckily, the officer thought it was hilarious and we had to fess up to our daughter that we’d been blasting Eric Clapton during a recent summer vacation with them. She didn’t seem to mind too much.
Probably because she grew up with me singing the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” (totally off key, mangling the tune) every chance I got to tell her she can’t always get what she wants. Or her dad comforting his girls with Bob Marley blasting, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Instead of asking for assistance, our daughters would sing from the Beatles, “Help, I need somebody!” My youngest daughter, soon to be a new mother herself, was defined in childhood by The Troggs, “Wild Thing,” and yes, she made our hearts sing and made everything, groovy. I admit that we played a lot of Jimmy Buffet on car trips to the beach and it’s possible we are still all looking for our lost shaker of salt, even after all these years.
Obviously, there’s a plethora of more substantial values to impart than our taste in music, but one gets to pick and choose in this post parenting chapter of life. The pressure is off for the basics like manners, kindness, curiosity, faith and respect. Those are characteristics I can reinforce but am not in charge of. Which is a relief. And my grandsons already know important things like when anyone yells “Bruuuuuuuuce,” it’s time to throw it down with “Born in the U.S.A.”
And I appreciate the guitarist and the police officer for their indulgent responses. They both chose not to blow out a kid’s candle, letting these adorable little lights of mine, shine. Let it shine.
Which is one reason my feelings were not hurt when the littlest one, we’ve dubbed “Big Boss Man,” had enough Mimi and Pop babysitting and wailed out a plaintive melody from the Beach Boys, “I feel so broke up, I want to go home.” Of course you do little guy.
There’re going to be lots of dance parties ahead and when the new baby joins the chorus, he’s going to find out that even if he doesn’t always get what he wants, he will get what he needs.
Rock on!
