"Now raise your goblet of rock. It's a toast to those who rock."
-- Dewey Finn (played by Jack Black) in School Of Rock
 Music sure is magical, isn't it?
 Chloe hates my music. It's a total shame, I thought she would have picked up on it now. Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers? David Wilcox? Nope, not for her. I can get her giggling and clapping if I sing along to Lady Gaga or Gwen Stefani while we drive down the road together, which is a total hoot. And it certifies me as a total dork.
I had a co-worker once, Brian, who had an adorable two-year-old who, upon climbing into his truck, would demand, "REGGAE . . . NOW!" Jammin' kid, that one. Although her blatant disregard for laidbackness kind of opposes the whole reggae thing. But kids will be kids, yah?
Despite us foregoing the dining room table in favor of a piano and a drumset, Chloe hasn't picked up on the rock-n-roll thing. She would just assume the radio play the ABCs or "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" (and both of which share the same TUNE!). That is until Brooke, aw bless her motherly heart, checked out a Barney and Friends CD from the library. Then Chloe instituted demands of her own after learning we had this music in the truck because she was absolutely bonkers for that junk.
She'd yell, "Mawney moonic! Mawney moonic! Mawney moonic!" (translation: "Barney music! Barney music! Barney music!"), as I'd set her in the car seat. Impatient little punk couldn't even wait until the keys were in the ignition.
And curses if you failed to turn it on before getting her buckled in, becuase she'd actually shed hyperventilating tears. No kidding. Thanks to all of this I've rolled into a number of back road camps now while rockin' out to "My Yellow Blankey" or the frickin' Airplane Song. This right here is a good reason to invest heavily in a weekly delivery of condoms: if there's ever been a water-tight argument against procreation it's the whole Barney and Friends conglomerate.
The tides roll in, the sun rises, the rock-n-roll roadie crew sets the stage. RAISE YOUR GOBLET OF ROCK. During the commute home with Chloe in the back seat, "Hey Jealousy" by the Gin Blossoms came on. Cool. I cranked it.
She stared at me in the rearview. Stared. Like, "Hey, punk, the hell you think you're doing? I want my singing-and-dancing purple dinosaur.......LIKE NOW." Picture it: her big round blue eyes poking out from behind a soft pink and purple crochet blanket. DON'T MESS WITH ME, I'M A SCREAMER.
So I looked at her and told her, "Hey darlin', this right here is rock-n-roll and we're gonna love it. You ready?"
By the time it got around to, ". . . If you dont expect too much from me / You might not be let down" (how ironic, huh?) she was smiling and clapping along with the 2-and-4 snare cracks, a little draggy but she had the idea right. We won't be moving to Nashville anytime soon so she can take up a career as an illustrious session drummer. (But the nugget is there! THERE!).
This moment took me back to our canoeing trip last weekend where Chloe sauntered over to her Uncle Greg who was busy setting up his dinner table, and went, "PAPA WIKE WAWK AN WOWL, PAPA WIKE WAWK AN WOWL!" (translation 2: papa likes rock and roll) She's a little comedian and doesn't even know it. We all rolled on the ground, and I nearly cried I was so happy at her astute sensibility.
But you know what happened today during the last chord of "Hey Jealousy?" No you don't know. She nodded, smiled, used her American Sign Language sign for "I like" (a kind of pinching at the center of your chest, then pulling the hand away) and kept repeating, "I wike wawk an wowl. I wike wawk an wowl. I wike wawk an wowl."
Goodbye Barney and Friends --- see you in the funny papers! Hello Led Zeppelin, Dave Matthews, Bruce Springsteen, The Fray, Nickelback . . . .
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