One Of The Days I Went Crazy

I can remember it well:The day I couldn’t take one more minute in my minivan with Disney songs on the CD player. Being the driver did not mean I chose the music every time. Many were the days when I pushed my young man too far and crammed him into the car seat one too many times. To appease him and soothe his crankiness, I played Disney music. He loved it with his every fiber.

When we purchased the CDs, my husband and I chose well, knowing we would be surrounded by these pieces for a while. They were recorded well and sung by professionals. Sure, Mickey performed some songs, as did Donald Duck. OK. But great orchestrations and orchestras moved it along, All fine and good.

Until your beautiful child wants to hear “There’s A Hole In My Bucket” performed by Goofy for the ten-thousandth time in a row in one day. I was beginning to hate Goofy.

My child is now nineteen years old, but then we did not have TV screens in the car. Add to that the fact that I wouldn’t have handed him my phone to watch a show or play a game – which flip phones couldn’t – if my life had depended on it. What we did was sing songs and tell stories and play games about things we saw outside the car.

I snapped when I was begged to “play it again.” I just couldn’t, and I told him so. He was quietly miffed and moving toward tears and anger. I ripped the six CD changer out of the dash and plunked Aerosmith into the single slot just above the gaping hole in the dash where Goofy had lived.

So Goofy brought Aerosmith and The Rolling Stones into the car. And, for that, I am forever grateful and have forgiven him that awful bucket. Well, almost.

“Sweet Emotion” filled the car, but the silence from the car seat was deafening. His eyes were huge in the rear view mirror, but all was quiet. I said nothing and kept driving. A few miles later, I saw movement of the blonde head in the same mirror. Not only was his head bobbing back and forth, his feet and short legs were going crazy.

“What was that?” the little voice asked when it ended. “I really, really like it Mom.”

“Rock & roll, sweetheart. Wanna hear more of Mommy’s favorites?”

“Yes.” A pause. “But can we hear that one again?”

All of this before he fell head over heels for “Dead Flowers” on Sticky Fingers.

I love all kinds of music and own CDs full of country, classical, and pop. But rock & roll makes me happy. Guitars played well. Edgy word play. Perfection to me.

This particular part of this particular day plays in my head every time I hear The Stones in the car. He was all of maybe a little over two years old. A navy thermal shirt and OshKosh striped overalls made the blonde curls stand out. Tiny Keds tennis shoes.

The minivan and the six CD changer have gone the way of the dodo. but the music I listen to is dotted with my favorites and my son’s favorites: Rihanna,The Black Keys, The Dixie Chicks, The Eagles, Bonnie Raitt, Wynonna, Elton John.

But not poor Goofy.

p.s. I have a list of songs waiting for my son to add to my little memory stick that lives in my car full time. He will be home later this week, and the soundtrack of our lives will grow again. The shoes, however, live in my office at home.

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