Open Letter to My Children

Kids,

I know I’m a weirdo. If you think about it, you do too. After all, it was me who hung the creepy doll head on the light pull in the living room when you were little. I’m the one who watched vampire movies and reruns of The Addams Family in between episodes of Facts of Life and Gilmore Girls.

I’m the one who had friends over for movie-parties where we dressed up like characters from the chosen film, with themed snacks and drinks, both adult and kid-friendly. Remember that one time we watched Cleopatra? I say I “had friends over,” but it was just about always the same friends and their kids. Sometimes it was at their homes, but the idea is the same.

I was the weird mom who planned Saturdays and Sundays to do marathon movies like all three Lord of the Rings, The 10th Kingdom, or all seven of the Harry Potter films with related snacks while we cleaned house or did our homework. Yes, our homework. I was also that weird mom who went back to college while ya’ll were in school.

For a long time, I was the weird mom who took you guys to pagan circles large and small, even while I was working for the church. Being Interspiritual is becoming more mainstream, but when you were little, it was definitely considered weird by most people. It’s just that I’m not most people.

I’m sorry if any of that embarrassed you at any time.

But none of that is why I’m apologizing. You see, on almost every television show I watch where the parents of adult children pull out their old vinyl, CDs, or whatever and start rocking out, the children act like their parents have suddenly become huge idiots.

Now, I don’t know if these television parents actually “grew out” of the music of their youth or if they’ve been hiding their authentic selves from their kids, but whichever it is, their children seem to have no idea who their parents are.

Now, obviously children don’t need to know everything about their parents, but musical tastes seem rather benign, don’t you think? I have always been a rocker, and you guys have always known it. I mean, you also know I like a lot of other kinds of music, including Gregorian Chants and songs from musicals.

I can’t help but wonder if any of this embarrasses you — especially if you’re with me when I listen to it. Particularly, keeping in mind the characters on the television shows I’m referring to, when I rock out.

Like the times I’ve gone with one or the other of you to rock shows. I’m still dancing, headbanging, tossing my hair around. Lots of other older attendees just stand around, tap a toe maybe, or otherwise control the movements of their bodies as if they’re afraid of breaking. I mean, maybe some of them are. Pain sucks, and I don’t blame them.

They can’t all be afraid of a little pain, can they? I’m thinking of the last hardcore death metal show I went to with one of you. All those forty-something-plus men just standing still, beer in hand, watching. Not even a head-bob, let alone headbang. The younger folks moved around a little, and one younger woman took the floor while I moved to stage-front and danced, banging my head like it was 1985.

I hope you weren’t humiliated, kid.

When I was a teen, music was probably my best friend. When I got home from school, no matter where we lived at the time, I would do whatever chores were left for me, do my homework, and either turn on the radio or put one of my favorite albums on the turntable. I’d throw myself backwards onto my bed and let my imagination wander, led by the music and lyrics of whatever I was listening to.

Senior year, that would be Led Zeppelin IV, almost every day. I listened to it while I daydreamed, while I did homework, and while I read fantasy novels. Led Zeppelin became the soundtrack to my best reading experiences well into my adulthood. Yet I also became a member of the KISS Army that year. I never did get to see them in concert, though I’ve been to a lot of concerts.

As I got older, I never stopped being a rocker…I just kept adding musical styles to my list. I never stopped doing that, either. I’m not one of those old folks who thinks the best music has already come out, or that music stopped being good in 1972 or whatever.

So sometimes when you’re in the car with me, you get to endure me singing along to just about anything.

I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.

If it does, I’m sorry.

This story was originally published in Petits Fours Magazine on Medium.