Indoors Column: The Hills Are Alive

Our three-year-old, Clane, has a preschool music program this week.  That should go well.

Clane is an outspoken opponent of music and joyful sounds of all sorts.  Should any of us so much as hum a tune in his presence, we will be met with great, often violent resistance.

Last winter, I sang at the funeral of Autumn’s grandmother.  A few bars into the song, Clane stood up on the church pew with his hands over his ears, yelling, “STOP SINGING!!”

I suggested that we skip this concert altogether.  My wife thought that would be rude.

Funny, I thought having our son scream at the other children in the idle of a song might be considered rude.  Can you tell I’m still holding a grudge?

“I just hope he sings,” my wife said at dinner last night.

“Me too,” I replied, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I stand up on my chair and start screaming for him to stop.”