Big T came up to me as I was writing today–so I wasn’t in the best “real time” frame of mind.
“Mom, what was that song you sang to me and Chicken when we were little?”
“Which one? Was it this one?”
“No, not that one.”
“Was it this one?”
“No, it was the other one. ‘Dancing King’?”
Me, thinking:
I start humming.
Big T says, “No, no, it’s this…” And he starts humming.
His humming sounds NOTHING like Dancing Queen.
But it does sound a little like ‘Simple Gifts’.
And I have a lightbulb. “Was it THIS?”
“Yeah! Except, I kept singing about assholes to that same tune. Sorry– I didn’t mean to blaspheme your song or anything.”
I’m a little stunned. “Uh, no. No–that’s okay. It’s fine. Your version didn’t sound like my version anyway.”
But inside, I have to remind myself that this was the song Aunt Lindy sang to Talker when he was losing his shit in the hospital. And then, whenever I think of the word “asshole”, all I’ll hear is this:
You know, I love music. I just never really thought about where it could take me.
