All American Boy

Of all of the things a new mom has to worry about in the nurturing and cranial development of her child, the last one I thought would come up is my little guy’s true love of Country Music.

To be fair, Country is primarily what Casey and I listen to, so he hears it whenever we ride in the car, or whenever the radio is on in the house.     I do make a concentrated effort to expose him to all types of music, because music is a big part of our lives.   Casey and I both sing and Casey plays the guitar; we have even lead worship at church from time to time.   I am a former college music minor, so I am also quite fond of various types of Classical music, and I love Broadway tunes.   Oh, and I am a closet Abba fanatic.       All that to say that I am thrilled that Kenny  is already getting into  music.   But it’s solely the Country tunes, the more Honky Tonk the better, that gets this kid up and wiggling his little body with a joy that is uninhibited, a million dollar smile on his face, and  even squeals of glee escaping from his throat.

So what’s the worry, you ask?   Grammar, people.   English syntax.   Verb conjugation.   Proper use of adverbs.   You see, I may be a Country music aficionado, but I am also a grammar freak.   And  Country music lyrics aren’t always the best lesson in learning the English language.    Of course, living south of Baltimore, I am a virtual prisoner in my own neighborhood of the worst of the Maryland accented dialect  known to man.   You could hire a linguist to come in here for an analysis, and he would leave shaking his head, wondering what on earth, “Git R Done!” which is plastered on  the back window of  every truck  on our street, is supposed to mean.   That, and why everyone ends every sentence with, “Hon.”

Sorry, tangent.   I was writing about Country music, right?

His current obsession is Rodney Atkins.   He wants to hear his CD over and over, which isn’t the worst thing in the world, since I’m pretty fond of it myself.   But there are two  hit songs on  the radio that cause a physical reaction in Kenny that is nothing short of adorable ~ he wags his head, waves his arms and sings along.   And I can’t believe I’m going to admit it, but they are “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk”” by Trace Adkins (no relation to Rodney) and Steve Holy’s “Brand New Girlfriend.”  

Here’s where I wonder if I need to start censoring his listening material, based solely on the verbiage (or lack thereof):  “It’s so hard not to stare / At that honky tonk badonkadonk / Keepin’ perfect rhythm / Make ya wanna swing along / Got it goin’ on / Like Donkey Kong / And whoo-wee Shut my mouth, slap your grandma.”   And, “I love it when she calls me butter cup, laughs and says I left the toilet seat up / she pops the top for me a cold beer, and says my buddies always welcome here / When I get hungry, she takes me out.   I’m ridin’ shotgun like a shitzu hound / My tail’s a waggin’, my tounges hangin’ out, it makes me wanna shout…”   respectively.

And yet, how can I deny Kenny the joy he so obviously reaps from the catchy tunes that accompany these grammatically horrid lyrics?   I promise that I’ll teach him proper verb conjugation when the time comes.   For now, the unfettered beauty of watching him wiggle is just too priceless.