My Mom continuously serenaded me during my formative years.
(Later, she apologized for this, as she was quite afraid that she had crippled my musical abilities. Her High School choir teacher had, after all, asked her to please just lip sync.)
But instead of kid’s songs (although she sang those, too), her shuffle was usually set to the music from her childhood and adolescence. As a result, I grew up thinking that the 50’s and 60’s were extremely silly eras.
And, since I was a lot like Ali with an intensely analytical persuasion, the music raised a lot of questions.
Were the Polkadots yellow, or was the Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie Bikini yellow with white polkadots? The whole “yellow” adjective is too vague.
And if you were going to shoot the Sheriff, why not go ahead and shoot the Deputy as well? I mean, your chances of getting caught regarding the whole Sheriff ordeal would be considerably minimized…
Why was that Magic Dragon always puffing? Had he been running too fast? And is that why you all lived in a yellow submarine – to get away from P. Draggy?
Why did you want Jack to hit the road? He’d hurt his fist. And what, exactly, does doing the Locomotion look like? Is that what you wanted Rhonda to help you with?
And I don’t want Mister Sandman visiting me. He sounds like he has an extremely chafing personality. But if I had my choice, I’d definitely opt for him over the Purple People Eater.
However, I now find myself singing the songs of my childhood to Ali, and as a result, have come to realize that perhaps the 60’s weren’t the only time of silliness.
I mean really, who could eat millions of peaches? They rot way too fast for that level of purchasing. And of course everyone wants candy – but is it really song material? And if life were plastic, would it really be fantastic?
But enough about me. Back to my Mom.
Besides all of the silly songs, we also received a healthy dose of her teenage mega-crush, The Beatles. Some of the songs might have been slightly modified – whether on purpose or due to her aging memory is unknown, but we loved them nonetheless.
So naturally, I was thrilled when she sent my kids home with a lesson from her stellar musical education, this time in the form of a slightly modified Beatles chart-topper:
Teaching a four year old and a one year old a Beatles duet: that’s a talent that only a Grandmother possesses, regardless of what her choir teacher told her.