Queen

If one of my sons turns out gay, they could not have a better role model than Queen front man Freddie Mercury.  A mustachioed, shirtless stud who has a four octave range?  I would be proud.  Oh, and don’t get me started on the mullet.

So it gives me pleasure to no end that Elijah and Luca love Queen and beg for it constantly when we’re in the car.  “Play the ‘Momma Mia’ song, dada!  Play it loud.” 

And I do.  We just leased a giant new car with seven, count ‘em, seven seats.  Why we need seven seats can only be answered by Diana and the car salesman.  I assume we are going to start breeding Grover, Immaculately. 

But I do love the car.  It’s got all these cool buttons and touchpads and we even hooked up Bluetooth so I can shout, “Car!  Play ‘We Will Rock You!’” 

At which point the car says, “Calling Diana.” 

And then I say, “No!  Play the song ‘We Will Rock You’ by the band Queen.”

And then it turns on the air conditioner and I drive into a brick wall, frustrated.  But it’s still pretty great to sing my 0.5 octave range at the top of my lungs along with the boys. 

They prefer to roll their windows down so our neighbor, Democratic Congresswoman Jan Schakowsky, knows that we are the champions, my friend.

I do worry a little that turning the volume up to “Max” might be hurting their little ears.  And the constant Freddie Mercury might actually be turning them gay.  Which, as we know, is perfectly fine as long as they wear spandex and occasionally play Wembley stadium.

But then Luca will ask for “Hop On Teacher,” which is his completely kick ass way of asking for “Hot For Teacher” by Van Halen.  An almost illegally heterosexual song.