Join Together With the Band

Yesterday Gert and I were putting in a load of laundry (so I could wash my new monkey t-shirt, my new Speed Racer shirt and my new Bob Ross shirt . . . you know “Happy Trees”). As I was loading the washer, Gert looked in the corner at a dusty, long-neglected object.

“Hey,” she said, “is that for your ookoolaly?”

“Nope. That’s a guitar case. And inside is my acoustic guitar.”

“Cool,” she said.

“Yeah. But it’s broken. One of the tuning pegs is busted and the bridge is broken in two pieces. I should get it fixed.” Something I’ve been meaning to do for about a decade now.

“Yeah,” she said jumping with excitement. “You could play guitar and I’ll play the ookoolaly and we can have a band!”

At that point you have no idea how my heart skipped a beat. I nearly scooped her up, grabbed the guitar and headed for Dale’s to get that sucker fixed right on the spot. Never mind that my calluses are long gone and I’m not sure if I remember a single chord. My little girl wants to start a band. Granted, a ukulele/acoustic guitar band, but it’s a start. We could start slow and just do some unexpected covers. Maybe some twisted, tricked out versions of current pop songs. More likely, we’d have to play her favorite songs, which is okay, since she has pretty good taste for a toddler. She likes Randy Newman, Wilco, the Beach Boys, Death By Chocolate, They Might Be Giants and the Ramones. It’s a start.

Or we could do some of her originals. Every night when I’m tucking her in bed she tells me that she had a song that was mailed to her mouth (yes, mailed to her mouth) and would I like to hear it? Naturally, I do. She usually launches into a stream of consciousness song. Last night is was about a family that was eaten by sharks, chased by a giant, never found their way home and was lost forever. (Yes, she’s my daughter.) At first, I thought it was a sad song, but I realized that if you are eaten by a shark and can still find a giant to chase you, you must be a pretty hearty person. In the middle of the song she inserted a piece of Wilco’s “Misunderstood.” Shortly after being chased by the giant, and I assume the family was dejected and feeling quite down, Gert launched into, “Nothing! Nothing! Nothing at all!” I love that kid. Even if she does sample.

So I agreed that we should start a band together. I thought it was a good idea.

“Come on,” I said, “if you’re going to be a rock star you have to learn how to behave like one. Let’s go trash your room.”

I knew she was a quick study when she made her mom take all of the yellow pieces out of her bowl of Trix.