Elvis and Eggs

It's the awesome responsibility of every God fearing, parent on the face of this earth to indoctrinate their children in the music of past generations. Because, all too soon the children will be making song selection on their own and will be overcome with an uncontrollable eye-roll and what looks to be the infliction of physical pain when exposed to your music. So while you still have some control over matters, go ahead and sing at the top of your lungs to Nu Shooz while they are strapped in their carseats, expose them to Bon Jovi in his big hair days, and Stop the World and Melt with them while you dance in your living room to the decade of your choice channel on the television. These are important years, formative years, and your influence will have everything to do with their musical prowess as adults.

My musical education started at an early age. A white plastic record player and Elvis's Greatest Hits LP laid the foundation for all things danceable in the future. And I, to this day, know the words to almost every classic country song on the radio, thanks to the eight hour road trip to Colorado each spring break. The ipod, about as likely as people living on the moon or an electric car! Names like Conway, Buck and Loretta did not even seem ridiculous to me yet. And I still associate station wagons with Charlie Pride to this very day.

So this past Mother's Day, I did my duty and exposed my own children to the King of Rock n Roll. It was an Elvis impersonator, hired to swoon the Mother's Day brunch crowd at a local restaurant. My kids were in awe of him. It's too early to tell, but I'm sure they will have an uncontrollable urge to eat eggs each time they hear Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love.

Teach, your children well.