Cock Robin

I watched a George Harrison documentary the other night and I was struck yet again by how many musical geniuses were exposed to great music when they were very young. Now, I’m not sure I want either Elijah or Luca to become musical geniuses when they get older. You know, because of the heroin. But just in case there is musical genius rattling around inside one of them I yanked the guitar off the wall.

Feel sorry for them. Feel very, very sorry for them.

I announced we were going to play some music and they needed to get some instruments. They both chose drums. Of course.

I found an ancient chord book of Children’s songs and made my way though the classics while they smashed stuff. “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, B-I-N-G-O, She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain,” etc. Yeah, we weren’t nailing “Hey Jude,” but it was fun.

Elijah was the first to get bored and he yanked the chord book out of my reach and announced he was choosing the next song. He immediately picked a song called “Who Killed The Cock Robin?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t know that song and it’s creepy. And it says ‘cock.’” He was adamant about hearing who killed the drawing of the dead bird on the page.

So I made up my own version of the song, all in minor chords. It sounded like a funeral dirge.

Of course he loved it. He demands to hear “Who Killed The Cock Robin,” every time I come within 50 feet of the guitar. And now he constantly walks around the house singing:

Who killed the cock robin?
Who killed the cock robin?
“I” said the sparrow with my bow and arrow.
It was I…oh it was I.

p.s. Today's photo is another in the “Insane Clown Posse” series.