Taking Back the Music

I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance,
That I could make those people dance,
And maybe they'd be happy for a while…

 Bye Bye Miss American Pie, Don McLean, 1972

I was in still in high school when Don McLean sang about the day the music died, in his anthem for Buddy Holley.  It was a time of change and excitement for me, of first boyfriends and dreams of college and what I would be when I grew up.

I could only imagine the family I’d have one day, two beautiful children, one boy, one girl (preferably) and of course the requisite husband.  He’d be funny, successful and good-looking and we would all live happily ever after in a television sitcom.

The music was always a part of my life in high school, college, and beyond.  Like the Fleetwood Mac album my college roommate and I  played over and over, our class high school graduation song- “Crosby, Still and Nash- We May Never Pass This Way” (we were a sarcastic bunch of kids)and the song we played for the first dance at our wedding “It Had to be You.”

From an early age, my kids rock and rolled in their car seats and sang back-up in the living room, to our family’s first home karaoke machine.  I danced around with them in my arms, crooning Linda Ronstadt, Carly Simon and James Taylor lullabies.

My kids grew older and the music changed, from Disney show tunes to Britney Spears, The A-Teens and the Back Street Boys.  I felt blessed that they skipped the rap stuff entirely and now sing along to Jason Mraz, Eric Hutcheson, Taylor Swift and Maroon 5.

But, not me. I don’t get to sing anymore.  About the time Bud and Sissy (not their real names, of course) hit their early teens, I stopped being the most wonderful woman in the world to them.  Along with that comprehension came many more:  that I was not beautiful, that I was not wise, that I was not perfect.

Okay, you say, they’re teenagers.  What did I expect?  And indeed, I somewhat expected my fall from grace. 

Even though when my kids were little and still adored me, I listened to my friends who were the mothers of teens bemoan their challenged parent/teen relationships with a silent but deadly air of confidence, knowing that would never be me.  That would never be my kids, disrespecting the ground I walk on, making me feel like dog-poopy, capable of even making me cry.

As pre-teen years turned to teens, I saw the writing on the wall.  I went from Mom the superhero to Mother the Maniac, who knows nothing.  I hung with other mothers of teens and we shared our sad tales.  I watched the other mothers, the worshipped mothers of the little kids out of the corner of my eye, and wondered if I should warn them.  And decided against it.  Let them enjoy their blessed ignorance. 

But I have to speak out about the music.  I have to warn those moms that they should sing all the time, because you never know when that song will be the last.

First the kids were embarrassed when I sang karaoke.  Then, they left the living room and made fun of me, even if I sang to myself.  They told me I couldn’t sing along out loud to the radio unless I knew all the words to the song.

They took the joy of music from my life.  They told me that I couldn’t sing. But now, I am taking the music back.  I’m going to sing when I want, where I want, teenagers be darned.  The music belongs to all of us not just them.

So I’ll …

Sing, Sing a song

Sing it loud Sing it strong

Sing about good times and bad

Sing about happy and sad

Don’t worry if I’m not good enough

For anyone else to hear                              

Just sing, sing a song….

<3 <3 <3