Posted by: brittany marie | July 16, 2008

in my day we listened to maroon5

My father is a comical man. His mind works fast and while he is speaking about one topic he can be miles away on a rabbit trail built from multiple barely connected ideas.  I find myself trailing in his footsteps and it is a dangerous thing. When you are in the middle of an intense conversation about someone’s life, it is not a compassionate idea to suddenly ask if the doors were locked before you left or if soft-bristle toothbrushes are better than hard bristles. But my father does this. So do I and my tongue has bled many times as I strained against letting a thought slip that would have no apparent connection to the current discussion. My father does not share the same sense of tact.


Anyhow, I was cleaning off a dish in the kitchen when he walked in to announce there was a musical artist whose work he really enjoyed.


“I think his name is David Bugle or something.” He motions, napkin in one hand, smiling the whole time. “He has a great voice. Really smooth. And he sings a lot of Frank Sinatra stuff…I’ve never been a huge fan of Sinatra, but this guy…”


I stop him short. “Are you talking about Michael Bublé!?”


His jaw drops. “Yeah! Wow, yeah, that’s the name! How did you know that?”


I give a short explanation but then ask, slightly bewildered, “David Bugle? Really? That’s not even close? Where did you get David Bugle from?”


My dad laughed and proceeded to recount how Bublé’s voice was so smooth and the he would love to have an album by Bublé…and then his train of thought jumped tracks and he followed a subject to which I only half-listened.


My mother is just as bad if not worse. About a year ago she volunteered at our church to help out on Wednesday nights in the high school ministry.  If you have ever been to a church high school service then you can imagine the number of crazy games a youth pastor will create to maintain the attention of his young charges. This newest game my mother was privileged to watch involved gargling Sprite while humming a popular song.


“I didn’t know most of the songs,” she told my sisters and me later. “But some of them were just terrible. I’m not sure why they would let kids sing that in church. One of the songs was I Let My Hips Do the Talking or something…it was terrible!”


My sisters and I sat in silence for a second. Then the youngest piped up, “Mom, do you mean My Hips Don’t Lie?”


“Oh, maybe that was it.”


My parents have created long and/or strange new titles for songs, movies…pretty much anything that can be named. However, if you talk about any music from the 60s and 70s then my dad will know the exact band. My mother is the same with movies and television shows. But with anything created after the early 90s my parents sort of shrug and forget the name immediately.


If I ever have kids, I shall be thrilled to do the same. And then I will chide them for not knowing of Postal Service, Timberland, Gnarls Barkley, or any other number of musicians I will have remembered. I will probably laugh and go on about the song that just aired on the old hits radio saying, “Low…I remember that song about apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur. Hah, that came out when I was your age…good times.”







And then suddenly the latest Madonna song will come on.

We all know she will still be around.


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