So my parents were here this past Monday through Wednesday. Yes, we just saw them in Abilene last week. And, yes, they were just here the week before that. Mom claims the visit was solely for Christmas shopping purposes. They’d planned to hit Penn Square Mall in The Big Town, but Mom decided at the last minute that she needed a personal shopper, and I’m as cheap as they come. (Whew. That was a close one, Lex!)
I’m pretty sure Caelyn had a lot more to do with it than me.
Anyway, when Caelyn and I picked Mom up from the hotel on Wednesday morning, we had The Beach Boys shuffling on the iPod, which prompted Mom to go on a rant about how music used to be about harmony and people who could actually sing. Eventually, we landed on “Little Saint Nick.”
Mom: “Do you have more Christmas music like this?”
Me: “Of course.”
Mom: “Maybe you should make me a mix.”
Me: MIX? Did my mom just say “make me a mix”?
Before we could seal the deal, “Sloop John B” came on and Mom turned around, looked Caelyn in the eye, and said, “We don’t drink all night. And we’re not getting into any fights.”
Oh, well.
Not to worry, Mom; she might just end up being more into hip-hop anyway.
The music’s spell was only broken for a minute, though, and before I knew it, Mom was divulging more of The Mysterious Past!
Warning: Rambling, seemingly incoherent (albeit intentional) dialogue follows.
Mom (going back to Christmas music): “I did a dance routine to ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’ Do you know that I was on the dance team?”
Me: “Yep. And you were the Football Sweetheart.”
Mom: “That’s right. But the dance team back then wasn’t like it is today. We did moves like the Rockettes.”
Me: “The Rockettes were racy in their day too.”
Mom: “I mean it was choreographed.”
Me: “It’s still choreographed.”
Mom (still not sensing my tone): “Yeah, sure it is! ‘Everybody shake! Shake! Shake! Now, shimmy! Shimmy! Shake!’”
She may have shimmied a little bit too. It’s hard to tell, really, since she was wearing her seat belt.
The Rockettes, Mom not pictured
I told her she might as well give up the act. Grandmom had already given her up; I knew she wanted to be a go-go dancer.
Mom: “I just wanted to do it so I’d have something to do while the bands were playing. You know I dated three different guys in bands. I had to do something while they were practicing all weekend and putting on concerts. You can imagine how boring, just listening to guitars and bass and drums all night every Friday night. . . .
Me: Oh, yeah, I’d be bored to death.
Mom: “. . . Now, here’s an interesting observation. . . . Llamas!”
Me: “That was interesting.”
Mom: “Caelyn look! Llamas!”
Caelyn squinted at her Grammi Roo, wondering why anyone would ever start yelling just when she’s about to fall asleep.
Me: “She can hardly stand the excitement.”
Mom: “. . . All three of those boys were more gentlemanly than any of the sports guys I dated. Really, I mean it!”
Me: “That’s ’cause they were artists.”
Mom: “They were all really different from each other, but they were all gentlemen. Never put the moves on, never tried to pull anything. . . . They did all have long hair. Well, longer hair. We had hair dress codes back then, so they’d keep it slicked back with oil during the week and then let it fall down loose on their shoulders for the weekend. . . . One of those guys went to another school. When he took me to his prom, I ran into his other girlfriend in the bathroom. You should’ve heard what I had to say to him when I got out of there!”
Me: “Something about his gentlemanly ways?”
Heartbreaker
(I’ve posted that one before, but just in case you missed it, that’s Mom circa 1967.)
She went on to confess that she’d dreamed of being a dancer on Broadway, despite having no formal training, but her dad made her promise to finish college first, and by that time, she was on her way to a one-room house in Alabama outside the Air Force Academy. She also threw in a bit about her high school/college buddy, Cap, who just might be the shortest guy she’s ever known: “I’m talkin’ 5′2. Your sister’s size.” Any time Mom didn’t have a date for Friday night, she and Cap would go out dancing. Eventually, Cap met a beautiful girl. “A tiny little thing,” and they dated for a couple years. Whenever Mom started going out with Dad, Cap would call and ask how things were going with “The Huge,” aka my six-foot-three father.
And then, just to take us full circle, when we pulled into the mall parking lot, she said with a sigh, “You should’ve seen my music collection. I had everything from The Beach Boys to Jimi Hendrix. But I always liked the surfers the best.”
By the time we got home, things were back to normal. Dad, Caelyn, and I had settled on the couch with Andy Griffith. While we witnessed Gomer singing in his real voice for the first time on television, an event which my dad claims was the talk of the town the day after it originally aired, Mom stepped into the other room to take a phone call. By the time she came back, we were into the next episode. Dad had instigated our tradition of trying to be able to call significant moments in the episode as soon as the first scene wrapped. I bet Dad that the shoplifter would turn out to be a little old lady with a Bible in her purse; that Andy would tell Barn, “You never make your arrest inside the store”; that the case would be solved by Andy making the lady stand on a bathroom scale; and that we’d get the classic Andy/Barney combo line: “And little old ladies ought never to clank . . . unless they’re headed to The Clink!” (Dad bet against me on the Bible and the line. Eventually, the student must overtake the master.) I knew who would first spot Barn disguised as a mannequin and whose brother he is in real life. (Leon and Ronny Howard’s, of course.) But I didn’t know that Ron’s dad played the chauffeur in the episode where Barney writes the governor a parking ticket. (Maybe Dad’s still the master after all.)
While the credits rolled, Mom recounted the conversation she’d just had with a prayer chain member from their little country church in small-town Oklahoma:
“Matt said he spent a lot of time praying last night while he was on the stripper,” she began. . . .
And to think she was worried about Caelyn listening to songs about drinking all night!
P.S. It may be a while before we meet again, with Thanksgiving and decking the halls and all. Maybe, possibly, after I get back and catch you up on our goings on, I’ll write about something meaningful. I do think about things besides TV and music, you know. But I’m not much of a confider either. Oh, yeah, and if you’re still stuck on that stripper I mentioned, just shoot Walt an e-mail. I’m sure he can clear things up.
10 Comments
November 17, 2007 at 2:29 pm
Close call at Penn Square!
Your mom’s got a story to tell.
November 18, 2007 at 10:45 am
PS – I was thinking about this during a slow night at work. I think there’s something really touching (for lack of a better word) about your mother’s suspicion and age-gap-ism. You really bring that out in the caption of the pic of Caelyn rockin’ the LL Cool J pant legs. There’s a certain naivete required for a person to be worried about the potential negative influence of “Sloop John B” in the year 2007.
November 18, 2007 at 9:09 pm
Lex,
To #1: I know!
To #2: Well said. I meant to convey something along those lines with the LL pic and caption, and you nailed it. I know what you mean, I think, when you say “touching (for lack of a better word).” And I like that description a lot, even though I’d have to admit that it’s something I didn’t (fully) get when I was a kid. But I do now (most of the time). I sort of wish she could know that I get it, but if she knew what “it” was and that she was doing it and that I got it, part of it would be lost. (That could be the vaguest sentence I’ve ever written.)
“Naivete” is kind of an interesting characteristic to attribute to my mom (although I can’t figure out how to describe why), but it’s accurate. And it opens up some of the subtle themes in this post. So, good thoughts, Lex. I’m glad I got to be in your Slow Night at Work mix.
November 18, 2007 at 9:26 pm
PS – Didn’t you write a post one time about Lil’ Wayne being the new Beach Boys? I know what you were saying then doesn’t really fit with what we’re both saying now, but there’s got to be some sort of connection I could make!
November 18, 2007 at 9:36 pm
Is it weird that I keep thinking about this topic? And am commenting for the third time?
Anyway, I’ve been thinking, at the root of all your mother’s resistance–from her reaction to your listening habits to her warnings to Caelyn–is the fact that she has been deeply moved, and still can be deeply moved, by rock music. As much as she acts like she fears it, and to paraphrase Michael Scott, she’s afraid of how much she loves it.
Just a theory.
November 18, 2007 at 9:39 pm
And to your PS, I did, here.
November 18, 2007 at 11:51 pm
Just a good theory!
I’ve been thinking about about how and why I interact w/ music like I do. (I’m using “interact” intentionally, but not because I used to play the french horn.) That’s made me think about music in regard to my family. They all “enjoy” music, but I wouldn’t say it’s a part of their lives. (I know I might sound a little snobby/Snobby right now, but I’m not meaning to.) I can’t remember my sister mentioning music in recent history except in relation to a song that Kevin likes or “At the Throne,” which she wants sung at her funeral. She’s never officially disapproved of my listening habits, but the 2 times she’s helped me move, she’s disapproved and/or not understood the number of boxes of CDs I had (pre iPod days). On an 8-hour drive, my dad might listen to one CD. But he did used to sit for hours and listen to me play the piano, and he picks out hymns to memorize while he’s walking. Then there’s Mom; you already know her story.
I was actually trying to get her to comment on this idea when they were here by pointing out how much Caelyn responds to music (as in recorded stuff, not me singing) and how little Claire (my sister’s baby) does. But Mom didn’t bite when I asked if she thought it was just a matter of exposure, which is probably good, because it could’ve gotten me into trouble.
Anyway, I think you and Michael are right. There’s definitely fear involved. Your simple statement says it perfectly, but now you’ve got me thinking. . . .
(Before I get in too deep and to be fair, let me say that I, obviously, don’t believe rock music should be feared and avoided, but maybe for some reason she really needs to. I can’t say that she doesn’t, if she says it’s something God has communicated to her.)
I think that fear boils down to what you said about rock music’s ability to move her and her so firmly not wanting to be moved by anything but God. For the record, I do think rock music has that ability, and it’s mysterious and wonderful and echoes my belief that humans are co-creators. But I think maybe Mom thinks that ability is a “power” that’s not blatantly Christian and, therefore, dangerous. (And it’s something specific about the music, as the lyrics aren’t the only issue she takes with a song.) I know I’ve heard her talk about the danger of “opening the door” to another power, allowing yourself to be absorbed by or giving your mind to something other than God. And I’ve heard her say she’s giving something up (not drugs or alcohol) because she can’t control the effect it has on her. I used to think she viewed rock music as one of those dangerous “doors,” but now I think it’s more than that. She knows what’s behind the door, and like you said, it scares her because she loves it . . . enough that she’s wanted to keep me, even more than my sister, from it. Jen says that’s because I was more upfront about doing my own thing and yet still more mysterious than she was. I’m not really sure what that means, but she’s licensed to make such assessments, so I can’t stop her. I also think that Mom thinks I’ve always had “intuitive knowledge” of rock music’s “power,” as she loves to talk about how I was sensitive enough to change the channel whenever Sesame Street rocked out.
She’s mellowed some, though, or at least decided that rock music doesn’t have to destroy a person. (Did I tell you before that she once told me that I was risking ruining my life by owning secular CDs?) That may be in part because she’s gotten a little bit into post modern evangelism and the missional church. But the fear is still there, evidenced, like you said, by the warnings to Caelyn. I think there’s a tie to the mellowing and my poetry too. Certainly, I’m encouraged to use my “God-given gifts” in ways that are specifically “evangelistic,” but (and I think you may already know) she’s also told me this: “It’s a good thing poetry is about the universal experience or you’d sound like a very worldly woman.” Somewhere in there, I think there’s a comment about the nature of art in general.
I’m not sure how to wrap these thoughts up. And I could go on, maybe make connections to some of the ideas in your Snobbery posts and to the ones about fear as a motivator for the Christian, but I guess I should save those for another post or comment.
Oh, and, no, I don’t think it’s weird. Or at least I’m not weirded out by it and it’s my blog. I can see why you’d be thinking about it. You did make me wish I could actually talk to you about it though. Is it weird that I’ve been thinking about it enough to write a comment that’s long enough to qualify as an entire post?
November 23, 2007 at 10:58 am
I was pondering the changes in music the other day and realized that music was in earlier times something that pulled generations together. Cultures had their own style, etc. Mass media has made any music available at any time to anyone. That is a mixed blessing/curse because as we get older we grasp onto anything that will keep us tied to the younger generations…but the changes come faster and faster. And let’s face it ….ipods are great but once again…we are not listening to the same thing.(not that there is anything WRONG with that)It’s just life. What God created to unite …Satan uses to divide. We resent not so much the music itself as we resent the fact that we don’t know the song or singer and there is so much out there!
November 25, 2007 at 7:16 pm
Thanks for bringing another perspective to the conversation, Jan. Music has always had the ability to gather or divide, but I think you’re probably right about that being at a different level in “your day.” I’m not sure we’ll ever witness a movement in rock music quite like the one my parents experienced. Generational differences are interesting, to say the least, in rock history, and the way generations and cultures identify with various sects of pop culture has some fascinating communication theory behind it. Adding the ever-growing expanse of mass media and music’s availability to the equation makes it even more interesting.
I’m sure you know plenty of songs and singers I don’t know. And even if it wasn’t intentional, great Seinfeld reference! (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
September 17, 2008 at 1:44 pm
[...] I love my parents. I’m glad for their example, and I welcome their counsel and prayers. But (I’ve mentioned before) that we are very different people; we have different parenting styles too. And, while we mainly have the same values, we disagree on a few big issues. So, naturally, I plan on approaching some things differently than they did. If there really is a “line,” I figure it’ll be crossed when we get to those issues. And I figure two of the biggest stink-raisers will be sex (which I’ve written about here) and rock n’ roll (which I’ve written about here and here). [...]