As our kids grew older, our home grew quieter. The noisy toys had been outgrown and soon replaced with electronic devices, and other “big kid” interests.
Along with the disposal of noisy toys, our daughter also packed her dolls and stuffies into her closet as her interest in horses, the opposite gender and crappy music grew.
But nothing could prepare us for what happened next; after seeing videos on social media, she asked for a harmonica. Yes, a harmonica. Just when I thought her taking up cheerleading was the biggest surprise we were in for, she hit us with another.
“You want a what … why? (insert look of confusion) Good Lord, no.”
Not to be deterred, she tried again a second time, “Please?”
“No.”
What 15-year-old girl asks for a harmonica? One who has been listening to “Piano Man” by Billy Joel. (Okay, so not all of her music is crappy, and you’re welcome for the earworm.)
Not to be deterred yet again, she circled ‘round my answer to her request and went to the Yes Man. For the record the Yes Man is not her father, he’s MY father, good ole’ Grandpa.
Grandpa, who has an affinity for the Delta blues, had a harmonica stashed away when I was a kid, so why wouldn’t he now? And how did she know this?
Without saying why, my daughter peeked her head up from her screen (it does happen) and said, “I need to run next door. Grandpa has something for me.”
Before I could ask what it was — because I had completely expunged the harmonica request out of my mind — she slipped out the door.
Still oblivious to what she and my dad were up to, I didn’t even ask what he gave her this time. Often he has little things for the kids that he thinks they may enjoy.
I heard her fidgeting with something when she came back, and I should have known then.
Before she could get it unwrapped and in position, I dropped what I was doing and covered my already ringing ears, damaged by years of loud music, concerts and recorder practices.
Not only did Grandpa have a harmonica, he had a brand new one still in the box.
He wasn’t even in the same house, but the glee my dad must have felt when he handed her this little “treasure” was palpable.
And while her persistence in learning the opening to “Piano Man” is far from music to my ears (or anyone else’s), it seems to bring great joy to my dad. How does one complain about that?
“She’s not that bad,” he says. “She’s actually pretty good.”
Thank goodness my dad’s musical interest did not go as far as the accordion.
Motherhood, Part II, is a recurring column in the News-Sun
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