Kids With Bad Taste In Music — A Dad’s Worst Nightmare

Recently, the kids and I were driving to the park. It was a normal day by all measures and we were headed out to enjoy the beautiful weather. The radio was on, which is abnormal because we usually listen to streaming music. I still don’t know what made me turn on the radio that day but it was a decision I will never forget.

As we were driving toward the park, a familiar song started playing. I didn’t realize it but the radio was on the local classic rock station and we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a Skynyrd rock block. So there I was, thinking nothing of it and singing along to Ronnie Van Zant’s timeless lyrics “Curtis Loew was the finest picker to ever play the blues,” when the unthinkable happened. My beautiful daughter chimed in from the back seat “Dad, can you change the station? This is terrible.”

My heart sank. Was this really happening? Everything I had ever worked for had turned to rubble in an instant!

I tried to shake myself out of this nightmare and I responded “Sis, this is Lynyrd Skynyrd, one of daddy’s all time favorite bands.” Her response is almost too heartbreaking to write. She said “Now I know how you feel when I make you listen to Sam Hunt.”

I was dizzy, almost unable to continue driving. This wasn’t supposed to happen to us. We listened to good music damnit! At dinner I played Wilco and the Beatles and Motown and all of the music that enlightened music snobs are supposed to like. I had done everything in my power to ward off these demons of Bro Country and yet here we were, afflicted like commoners who “aren’t really that into music.”

The only thing that kept me upright that day was my wonderfully innocent son saying “Dad, I like it even if sissy doesn’t.” At least I had not lost him yet.

We went on to the park as if nothing had happened and I swore never to speak of “the incident” again.

Fortunately, the story doesn’t end there.

Fast forward several weeks. I had begun to resign myself to our new normal and I had even given up turning on music at dinner because obviously I had failed as a father. I had lost my sweet, innocent daughter to the most vile of monsters, the dark lord of Bro Country, Sam f%#&ing Hunt, and our lives would never be the same.

But then, just when I thought all was lost, a ray of hope shone through the clouds. The whole family was driving home from dinner and my daughter asked me to play some music. I was merely a shell of myself at that point so I started to just play Katy Perry or Megan Trainor, knowing she would be appeased. But something awoke in me and I knew I only had one shot at this. I knew I had to call on some mighty angels to dispel this demon, and I played the only thing powerful enough to break this evil Bro Country curse: Master of Puppets.

As James, Kirk, Cliff, and Lars began to shred, I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the unthinkable: my beautiful daughter was head banging and throwing horns! Could it be? Was the curse finally broken? I couldn’t know but I saw a glimmer of hope. I went to bed that night knowing that all was not lost.

The next day we were once again driving somewhere, probably to eat Mexican for the 5th time in 3 days, when it happened. The victory I could have only dreamed of mere weeks ago. My sweet daughter from the back seat nonchalantly said in the most angelic voice, “Dad, can you turn on the puppet master song again?”

My heart almost leaped out of my chest. Could it be? Had I heard that right? Yes I had! My sweet, beautiful daughter had broken free of her shackles and had come back to the light. I hadn’t lost her! She had come home to me and everything was going to be ok.

And there was much rejoicing.

Also published on Medium.

Originally published at dadletteroffice.com on August 21, 2018.