Wednesday, September 28, 2011
A few months ago, we stumbled into our local public library looking for something to do. After a few minutes trying to find that elusive combination of Star Wars and Dump Truck book (you’re sitting on a potential gold mine, George Lucas) one of the librarians informed us there was a kids’ drum circle ready to begin next door. This, we had to see.
The drum circle dude was the most perfectly cast gentle drum circle guy ever. He stunk, of course. He had inexplicable bracelets and non-ironic peace t-shirt. And shoes which were left at home.
He did a fairly good job keeping the attention of a room full of kids who’d rather be watching Sponge Bob. And he didn’t seem to mind that not a single one could hold a beat (because he was stoned).
But I didn’t truly fall in love with his gentlemen until he taught my son how to make the “drummer face.” He described it thusly: scrunch your nose up like you smell something bad. Then nod your head “yes” and shake your head “no.” It was perfect.
Elijah has been using his newfound drummer face a lot lately. Diana and I have been having a secret battle of music in the kitchen. “Phish” vs “Wilco.” It has to be confusing to our kids. Should they love music designed for white suburban 30 somethings or Caucasian 30 somethings from the suburbs?
Neither one really blows the doors off the house. They are designed to be listened to in dorm rooms by black light.
So the other night I was flipping through my ipod and stumbled across that classic Guns N’ Roses album, “Appetite For Destruction.” Don’t ask me why it was there. I must have been angry in the recent past.
I cranked it up and said, “Who wants to learn how to rock?” Then I played that anthem of trailerparks everywhere, “Welcome To The Jungle.”
Both boys stood agape. I actually thought it was scaring them. But suddenly, Elijah broke out his drummer face and started thrashing around the kitchen. Luca immediately jumped in and they made their own little pre-school mosh pit. Grover leapt on me and humped me furiously. I imagined our landlord neighbors peeking in our windows and praying we’d leave for Evanston sooner than we said.
Once the song was over, I tried to keep the energy up with “Sweet Child O’ Mine” or “Paradise City,” but Elijah kept shouting, “No! No Daddy! Put the surprising song on again. The SURPRISING SONG!”
And then he would make is drummer face.