Super-Daddy

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I write most of my reviews in the car.

You see, every day it’s one of my duties as Super-Dad to drive our (just-turned-5-years-old) son to and from school. Our daughter, who is 2.5 years old, always accompanies us. This is because there’s no one else to watch her while I play school bus, so where we go, she goes.

Right now, this all works fine. Shoes, maybe a coat, get in the car kids! But over this past winter, and it was a spectacularly awesomely cold and snow-dumping sort of winter like we used to get 30 years ago, getting two toddlers into their snowsuits and out of the house takes a lot longer. I don’t dislike much about winter (actually, I love winter), but this one thing is more hassle than it needs to be. You try putting snowsuits, boots, hats and mitts on two whirlwinds. Simultaneously. Parents everywhere nod in commiseration.

Anyway, the reviews. You see, there’s a rock star parking spot right up front, at my son’s school. And if we get there a bit early, I can usually snag that optimal spot. It’s easiest and safest for loading/unloading, and has direct access to the exit. Prime real estate. So, when it’s time to go get the boy, my daughter and I arrive early and rock an album while we wait (in the rock star parking, of course). I have spiral-bound books (see pic above) and cheap-ass pens from the dollar store in which I write all of this crap that you so kindly stop by to check out, and away we go.

One true benefit from all of this is that, since I started doing this months ago, my daughter is getting one helluva great education in the rawk. She hears every note of every record I play, hanging out in the back seat, eating and playing and babbling along as she does. I believe I am doing her a great service. Rocker chicks are (usually) awesome, so she’s getting an excellent head start.

Generally, she doesn’t complain about the music. Given her choice, being 2, she’d demand the songs from the Little Mermaid ad nauseum (see recent rant about that particular movie’s songs). If it was something she truly disliked, she’d cry and carry on and make trying to listen to it pointless, but that happens rarely. In truth, the only time she looked uncomfortable was during that 2CD Zero Tolerance compilation of wall-of-noise death metal stuff that Scott sent, but even then she didn’t actually complain. I could just tell by her face that it wasn’t her cup of pretend tea from her plastic tea set.

So, take a look at the list of the past few months’ reviews I’ve flung at the wall, here on the KMA (hoping some of it would stick). It’s all (mostly) been great rawk albums from Mike and Scott. And my daughter has heard them all. She’s getting a fine, fine introduction. I like to believe that these slabs of rawk seep into her brain and that, even though she’s only 2 right now and not really piecing things together in that way, when she gets older and hears all of this stuff again and again as Daddy keeps playing it, it’ll all already make sense to her, intuitively.

I don’t know if I’ll always be the cool Dad (I can also be a massive dork), but I like to think that this is one positive step in that direction.

* I sometimes doodle in the margin as I listen.