Happy Mother’s Day to all of you great mom’s out there!  To celebrate this momentous occasion, here is a special story about the first time my son learned to speak.  It’s all very dramatic and tears at your heart strings so get out your tissues…okay, it’s actually an embarrassing tale of music and Walmart, but still.  It was traumatic for one of us.  Maybe two of us.  The innocent lady who witnessed my child’s descent into the debauchery and the morally deficient world of rock music and was probably scarred for life and myself, who led him there.

Once upon a time, in a land called Grand Falls Winsor, lived a nice little family with a mother, a father two daughters and a young son.  They all lived happily in their house playing and frolicking in the meadows. ( okay, there were technically no meadows in GFW.  AND we don’t frolic as a rule. Only on very special occasions like Christmas, or when some of us are really drunk. No pointing any fingers, just sayin’. )  Anyway, the boy, who was three years old, had not begun to speak any language intelligible to any human life form.  The mother, being very concerned, took said young boy to a Speech Pathologist.  The Speech Pathologist was a young woman of very good bearing and simply stated “There is nothing wrong with the boy.  He will speak when he’s ready.  Go home and rest your head, lady” 

So, the despairing mother took her young boy home and after a lengthy car ride listening to the young son speak something akin to the Cantonese and Ancient Tibetan Mongloid tongue , wearily escorted young child into the house.  It was during this phase in the young mother’s life that she began experimenting with music.  Music she adored when she was young and single and had somehow lost in the day-to-day tedium of Barney and Caillou episodes (it should be noted here that Caillou was seen as an evil child full of whininess and annoying shit that led the mother to bouts of anxiety and desperate pleas of “LET’S ALL GO OUTSIDE AND GET SOME FRESH AIR BEFORE MA HEAD EXPLODES!” ) Yeah.

One day, while playing her music very loudly, she noticed her young son sitting very attentively.  The daughters, heard the rendition of Bryan Adams’ “I Wanna Be Your Underwear” and asked repeatedly to hear the ‘underwear song’.  Mother was happy to appease her young daughters as she found this tune particularly humorous, obliged…often.  After the young daughters had ventured off to school, the mother took young son to Walmart for a bit of shopping in the afternoon.  The son, being very sleepy and ready for his nap at that time, was readily dosing in the cart and humming a tune the mother recognized as Joan Jett’s “I Hate Myself For Loving You”…Joan rocks. The mother, knowing the son was unable to speak, allowed the son to sing the song at will, while all the Walmart staff looked on adoringly saying how cute the little boy was singing to his mother.  Yeah.

As the mother approached the checkout line, she noticed a woman behind her who seemed particularly taken with the young boy.  She was smiling and cooing to the child as the mother flung her intended purchases on the conveyer belt. Knowing the young boy was securely occupied, the mother paid close attention to her groceries when suddenly she heard a most familiar sound.  “I WANNA BE!” being sung behind her.  She went swiftly over to her son.  Could it be?  Was that him?  Had the spell of the Cantonese speak been broken and replaced with the x-rated lyrics of an old Bryan Adams song?  The lady who had been occupying and smiling at the young boy thought the boy to be speaking to her.  So, she replied “What do you want to be?”  The mother, knowing the son was merely repeating the words to a raunchy song, attempted to intervene by pointing to a random balloon and distracting the boy.  Alas, the boy could not be sidetracked.  Again, he sang out “I WANNA BE!!“.  Full of fear for the next line, the mother hurriedly began to throw her groceries onto the belt all the while, the nice lady said again, “What do you want to be?” and leaned closer to hear the boy.  The young boy looked innocently up at the woman, his sparkling blue eyes dancing with joy as he sang, quite in tune I must say, “YOUR UNDERWEAR”.  

The lady, aghast and shocked by what she had just heard, recoiled in horror and glared at the young mother.  Washed with embarrassment, and stifling a laugh, the mother simply retorted “Oh, it’s a song his father taught him” and pushed the cart out of the store, praising the child for his speech and promising to teach him more ‘appropriate’ songs.  Like more Joan Jett, whose song son repeatedly sang henceforth as “I hate myself for lubbing you….”  yeah. 

The son, now thirteen and three quarters has had a varied singing career.  I have been called regarding his poor song choices including the popular titles “My Humps” by the Black ‘Eyed Peas, “I like Big Butts” and the infamous “Save a Horse Ride A Cowboy” which I am totally not responsible for.  That last one was definitely Hubby’s country music influence.  I did teach son how to do an awesome rendition of Blue Rodeo’s Bad Timing when he was four.  I wish I had recorded it. 

Happy Mother’s Day to all the women and men who care for their children everyday unconditionally, allow them to sing dirty rock songs to strangers and endure endless episodes of Caillou all in the name of love. 

Son,..speaking clearly and no singing at this point.