Got My Rock On!

This past weekend, I found myself inside with the boys looking for something to do. The puzzles, balls, movies, and even the almighty iPad were not holding their attention. I found myself sitting in a room with an 8 month old and 3 year old staring at me. I could see the thought balloons over their cute little heads, "Dance, monkey, dance." My old acoustic guitar, usually stuffed in a closet corner, was out—probably from some closet organizing project or search for the matching sock. Quickly, I grabbed my opportunity to re-aquant myself with my old six-string friend and the spot light. "Arrrrr Yooooou Riddy ta ROCK!" I screamed as I beat through the 3 chords that make up 80% of all rock and roll. BAM! I had their full attention. For ten minutes I windmilled, thrashed, and bit the guitar strings. It was my greatest performance and my audience hinged on my every move. The same rock star imitation that made my wife cringe in embarrassment was now filling my spawn with laughter. When I ran through all the parts of songs I knew I just started making stuff up. "Clean your room with a broom, don't give mom any guff, don't play with your brother too rough!, La Di Da Di Da." Ya, I'm no Dylan, Nelson, or Drake, but the boys loved it. Even better, Monkey started to make up his own lyrics to my riffs. I was the Slash to his Axl Rose, the Keith Richards to his Mick Jagger, the Angus Young to his Bon Scott... we were rock. And the 8-month-old son, Buddha, danced, laughed, and clapped. "Poopey, Poopey, Poopey, trains are cool, ya ya ya." For almost an hour we jammed, making more laughter than music, and loving every minute of it. And then came the payoff. Knowing that mommy would be home soon, I ended the concert to prep for nap time. "No daddy!", Monkey yelled. "Again! Again! Again!" What? Encore? They want me to play another song? After all those years of practice, nights in empty bars, heaving amps into a van, I have finally found MY AUDIENCE. And they love me. They really, really love me... and the little one needs his diaper changed.

- Not a parenting blog, not a daddy blog, not a mommy blog — it's a Stunt Dad blog.

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