I made a horrific discovery the other day, one that shook the very foundation of what I believed to be my child-rearing skills.
It all started when I got into my youngest son's car to move it around during our daily Automobile Driveway Rattlesnake Rodeo. As soon as I hit the ignition, everything I thought I had accomplished as a parent flew right out the window. Which, conveniently, had been left down overnight.
I discovered my son, the last of the progeny, the lone apple that remains on the tree, listens to country music.
OK, a note here: You don't discover your teenager's musical tastes as much as you are assaulted by them. I mean, at what point does music quit being loud and start being weapons-grade? I'm pretty sure I hit the panic button on the key, but if it weren't for the flashing lights, I probably wouldn't have known.
And, it's not like I'm banging on country music. I'm not a fan, but just because I can't tell the difference between Luke Bryan Sam Hunt Kip Moore Thomas Rhett Dierks Bentley Jake Owen doesn't mean there isn't one. I'm sure. Probably. There's got to be one.
It's just that, well, I just never figured a child of mine would be a, well, country music person. However, we do live in a small Southern state, so forget about "nature" and score another one for "nurture."
I mean, I guess that's all right. Lots of people are country music people, I suppose. And they seem reasonably normal. Really big belt buckles, but otherwise, you know, OK. At least it doesn't really appear that's how jihadists start or anything.
It is, however, somewhat startling. As parents, we're convinced our children are going to be either better versions of ourselves or mini-me's. We're so used to thinking they want to grow up to be "just like us" that when we learn that might not necessarily be true, well, it's kind of shocking. And sad, in a way. Like blue eyes crying in the rain. Or your dog being run over by a train that is taking your mom to prison or something like that.
My concern, of course, is that it's not going to stop there. Is country music just a matter of taste or symptomatic of some larger rebellion against all that's right and good in the world? What's next? Are we going to wake up some day and find out he's a Cubs fan?
All right, so, we're pretty sure that's not going to happen. And that there are all sorts of good places we can get him de-programed, if it does. One of them, I believe, shows movies of happy people celebrating their teams making it into the World Series and works with patients to help them understand that they deserve to be happy, too.
But I digress, and, as a Cardinals fan, mock. But mostly digress.
Anyway, it really isn't all that bad that he listens to country music. For one thing, the musical tastes of a teenager are very much like their tastes in everything else, including clothes, hairstyles, relationships and body adornment: singularly intense at the very first, melting to almost nothing within, typically, a matter of weeks if not days.
That's important to remember before you get that tattoo. Just saying.
Chances are, by the time I finish this, he will have moved onto Rap. Which offers me no more solace, but does help make the point.
We accumulate things over our lifetimes. Some of them are real, like photos and recipes and places. And are much more ethereal, like tastes and loyalties. Maybe we developed them on our own, maybe they were handed down to us from our parents. Whatever the case, we treasure them and want to pass them down to our children, in part so they can share our joy in them, and in part as a way of connecting the generations.
And when we discover our children would rather listen to Miranda Lambert than Eddie Vedder, in a way it's like they're rejecting a present we've been saving for them for years.
But maybe I'm looking at it the wrong way. My oldest son and I love the Cards, but even if he were a fan of another team (well, not the Cubs) it would be all right, since what we really share is a love of baseball and of sports and are committed fans.
I may not personally enjoy steel guitars, but I do love music and movies and my youngest son and I share those tastes. And who knows, maybe either he'll come around to Counting Crows or I'll learn to appreciate Little Big Town. OK, don't hold your breath.
Perhaps I'm just rationalizing (a stage of grief, by the way) here, but maybe the most important thing is that the Lovely Mrs. Smith and I have tried to teach our children to be independent, think for themselves and make their own decisions, and that seems to be happening. Even if it involves a whole of more of Jason Aldean than I'd like.
I console myself while driving down the interstate, Pearl Jam's "Black" blasting so loudly it rattles the sunroof of the SUV. OK, so maybe he came by that loud music deal honestly.
One more thing we have in common.
Commentary on 09/04/2015