Today I failed as both a parent and as a human being.
No, I didn’t raise the next Unibomber. (Don’t let the hoodies fool you: my kids have absolutely zero idea how the postal service works. They don’t even know which side of the envelope to put the stamp on. If you have ever received an actual mailed letter or post card from either one of them, consider yourself lucky.) I also didn’t raise a child who is seriously considering voting for the man who promises to “make America great again.” (Although even that would be preferable to raising a child who wasn’t planning to vote at all. ) And finally, neither I or my children are the ones who keep sending George R.R. Martin all those Candy Crush invitations, thereby distracting him from finishing the next installment in Game of Thrones. No, I am something much, much worse.
I am the woman who raised a child who can’t tell the difference between AC/DC and Kiss.
This appalling state of affairs came to my attention as I was driving Clyde to school the other day and “Thunderstruck” came on the radio. I don’t know why, but halfway through the song I turned and asked Clyde if he knew who was playing the song we were listening to. He paused, cocked his head to the side, and then said, “Um, is it Kiss?” I nearly drove off the road.
I know, I know: there are a lot of people out there who have absolutely zero interest in classic rock, who couldn’t tell you the difference between the Scorpions and Air Supply, and they manage to get along just fine. (Probably.) And I’m not saying that my kids have to love classic rock, or even like it; I’m just saying that a basic understanding of it is necessary. Why? For the same reason it is necessary to know the difference between a Monet and a Picasso, even if you don’t “like” art. Or to recognize when an author is using a biblical theme, even if you’re not religious. There are just certain bits of knowledge that are cultural touchstones, and not knowing them will show you up as the worst kind of outsider.
That’s probably seems like a stretch, drawing a comparison between an inability to tell when someone is “getting the Led out” and sitting all alone at the lunch table of life, but it’s kind of true. As a species we are hard-wired to notice connections and similarities before we notice anything else, and one of the biggest connections we have is through music. Especially popular music.
Look at it this way. Am I an Elvis fan? No. But I can still tell the difference between Elvis and Buddy Holly, dammit.
At this point I’m not sure if I should have a musical intervention or just give it up as a lost cause—I must admit that I’m definitely leaning toward the latter. Not because I don’t think Clyde will ever be able to learn the difference between the Eagles and Supertramp, but because I don’t think I have it in me to go full on Jack Black “School of Rock” on him. And besides, it’s not like he’s entirely musically ignorant: he does know the difference between the Ramones and the Clash, at least.
Which is good: if he didn’t know at least his basic classic punk, then I think I I really would have to intervene.