My baby rocks!

Looking up from my laptop, I was pleasantly surprised to see my son dancing to a Bon Jovi song.  I was amazed when he started the movements of air guitar.  “Wow,” I said and clapped, when he leaped into the air and landed in a half split.  “You rock!” I shouted and he looked up with a proud smile on his face.

It brought back lots of memories from the 80’s, watching my son dance and sing songs from Bon Jovi and Aerosmith.  At first, I thought his taste was due to listening to 80’s Rock in the womb.  After days of 80’s rock, I began to wonder if there was a more serious problem.  When he said that he wanted to grow out the back of his hair, I panicked.  Could this be the dreaded 80’s gene?  Eek!

I couldn’t sleep.  “What if he grows a mullet?  What if he starts wearing parachute pants and jackets with shoulder pads or Hawaiian shirts with jeans?  What will his gym teacher say if he comes into class with a headband and legwarmers?”  I had to know before this 80’s obsession got out of hand, so I ordered testing.

First, we tried the Pacman test.  “Oh No! He loves it!  There’s no hope!” I yelled.  My husband said, “Calm down!  We haven’t finished the testing.”

Taking out a pile of flash cards of 80’s bands, he said confidently “he will never guess all of these bands.”  When my son guessed KISS on the first card, my husband said, “beginner’s luck.”  His face went white as a ghost, when my son guessed Guns N Roses for the second card.  “How could he know that?  Maybe there is something to this 80’s gene,” he said with a sigh.  “Do they have 80’s gene therapy?”

Hysterical, I grabbed the flash cards.  “You must be giving him hints.  Let me take a turn.”  I lifted the next card with my hands shaking.  “He can’t possibly know this band.”  When he guessed Duran Duran, I thought all hope was lost.  “What will we tell the family and neighbors?” I cried.

“One last test,” I said with a shaky voice “Devo.”  I selected Whip It on the stereo and watched his reaction.  On the edge of my seat hoping that he was not lost to the 80’s, I found myself starting to move with the song.  My husband and I started dancing.  All of a sudden we heard, “Yuk!  What is this song?  It is terrible!”

“Hurray,” I shouted with joy.  “He hates Devo.  He doesn’t have the dreaded 80’s gene.”  After celebrating that our son did not have the 80’s gene, we turned Devo back on and finished our dance.  “Whip it good!”