I Can Hear ’em Playing on the AM Radio…

I am a very fortunate mother.  Besides all the obvious reasons (10 fingers 10 toes and all that other stuff), my kids don’t listen to that God awful music that so many of my friend’s kids listen to.  I have My Honey to thank for that, what with him being a musician himself.  The two of us are big time fans of a cross genre of music.  We are such fans, we still own a turn table and a zillion LP records.  If you don’t know what they are, I don’t think we can be friends.  Please educate yourself.  Anyway, once the kids came around, we made a pact –    No Barney, no how, no way. Nothing of that ilk.  Pretty simple.

So now I am delighted to say that my kids are onto a lot of classic rock.  They know Springsteen and are particularly fond of the Seeger Sessions recordings, and they know the Joshua Tree album pretty much by heart.  Sassy is partial to Where The Streets Have No Name.  Now, this is not to say we have escaped completely.  I still hear Hannah Montana coming out of the Hello Kitty boombox (again – I just thought if I was going to show my age, I ought to go all the way).  I can live with Hanna – after all, I subjected my mother to some fairly wretched music in my day.  But, I’m not the only one who lucked out on this nifty deal.  I remember Isabella’s little girl knowing the lyrics to Legend by Bob Marley and the Wailers when she was very young.  She is a real smarty pants anyway, that one.

Recently, Sassy and The Bandit have found a new favorite.  I couldn’t figure out what they were talking about when they kept asking for the “wewillwewill” song.  My Honey clued me in – they’re asking for Queen.  QUEEN! I’m so excited.  They love We Will Rock You.  Isn’t that awesome?

The other night The Bandit is marching around the house singing, “You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kicking your can all over the place” over and over and over again.  Of course, those are the lyrics he would latch on to.  Pretty soon, I’ll have them head bobbing to Bohemian Rhapsody.

It warms my cockles.  It really does.  Ah, Freddie, how I miss ya.