Our Father

The kids are very much into classic rock now because that is typically what I listen to when they are in the car. Given that I have generally lost touch with any modern musical developments of the last 30 years (I would have to search Wikipedia to learn about the Jonas Brothers, Mylie Cyrus, or any of the "pitchy dawgs" of American Idol), it is nice to find my warm center with U2, Bruce Springsteen, Queen, the Eagles, or Aerosmith.

They always ask me the name of the song and who is singing it, and like a god I seem to know the answer to everything...spitting out the title long before the chorus cries it out and proves me right.

But they also still don't fully comprehend the concept of the radio. They were born into a world of CDs and DVDs where songs can be replayed, skipped instantaneously, or jumped directly to; and all without the interruption of commercials. They don't understand that a DJ is sitting in a small room somewhere out of town and choosing songs that are sent out over the airwaves to be swept up by my car, and that I don't have any control over it.

Now, whenever the kids get in the car they ask me to put on rock 'n roll and when they hear a song they like they want me to start it at the beginning or play it again; which unfortunately I cannot oblige them.

The other day I was driving with Molloy and That Smell by Lynyrd Skynyrd came on and she absolutely loved it... "Ooh, ooh that smell!" How can a kid not love that.

I wasn't sure if it was the simplistic rhythm of what could have been a bodily function gone awry, or maybe it was the rest of the lyrics that actually described a heroin overdose and "the smell of death around you" that appealed to my 5-year old, but nevertheless she constantly wants to hear the song again.

Every time we get back in the car she asks for "the smell song" and doesn't understand why I can't give it to her. I guess the godly powers of a father can only reach so far.