As usual, when it comes to parenting I am the student as often as I am the teacher. A few months ago I shared about how I thought having boys meant I wouldn’t have to worry about the boys’ clothes. Another thing that I (wrongly) assumed was that we would all like the same music. I thought I had won the music lottery because I would be spared the bubblegum pop that girls like so much.
Lately I’ve been thinking that a few strains of Justin Bieber or One Direction floating through my home might actually be – um – well – music to my ears.
Seriously – boy moms – have you seen the music aimed at the adolescent male market? Ouch.
I know that the older person tsk tsking the music of the younger generation is the oldest fuddy duddy caricature in the book – but yikes! Try to imagine that someone is in your living room – having his spleen removed – without anesthesia – by a grizzly bear – with a rusty hacksaw. That is pretty much what my sons consider entertainment.
I cannot tell my the boys what to like, but I am the gatekeeper of the iTunes account. All music purchases flow through me. We even have a system that works well for all of us that nobody fights or fusses over.
The first test is simple. If they would be embarrassed to sing a song in front of me we aren’t going to buy it. That knocks off about half of the choices immediately. Let’s just say that innuendo has been thrown out the window and many of today’s artists make it easy for my kids to save some money simply by spouting profanity and vulgarity. I am fairly open minded about what is left after that but I still want to know what they’re listening to – especially since a lot of it is unintelligible ranting.
As the music steward I subject myself to the lyrics every time I get a request. I was hoping for a way to make it fun and the solution came to me rather easily. We were watching a video with subtitled lyrics. These guys in the band were screaming their heads off like they were on fire or walking over Legos when I started laughing so hard I could barely breathe. They were whining! Underneath all of that screaming they were totally playing the teenage angst card and whining.
As I dissolved into laughter my sons kept trying to figure out what was so funny. That day my plan was born. Now any screamo song we buy has to pass the dramatic reading test.
The process is simple. No music, just lyrics. I gather the children and I do a poetry reading for them. This is so funny that we never get through it without at least one of us cracking up. It also gives me a chance to interject some wisdom when we are finished. For example, as I conclude a reading of a long torment-filled diatribe about some guy’s inability to escape the “crushing pain” in his life I can’t just let that go. I assure the boys that unless the fellow is trapped under a boulder he can absolutely escape the pain.
We talk about how emotional pain is difficult, but in time it always comes to pass. We revisit the most horrible things we have been through that have faded into a shadow of a memory now. I remind them that when we take the focus off of ourselves and put it onto other people that we almost always feel better. I offer suggestions of service work and places that always need volunteers. I also (quite seriously and vehemently!) tell them that if they ever feel like things are so bleak that they must promise to tell me or somebody who will help them through it.
We have similar discussions about songs that objectify women, demean parents, talk about breaking laws, etc. It has been a pretty good way to have a lot of the important talks that a parent should have with young men. I am all about taking advantage of the easy segue.
I know we are all busy, but sometimes it is important to do a spot check on what is streaming through those ear buds and into our kids brains.
