I didn’t hate it at first but then I realized I accidentally listened to Christian Music

t want my kids to love music, all kinds of music. I don’t want them to grow up to become one of those annoying tools who say “I listen to all kinds of music” and believe they actually do. You know the types. “Oh, my music library is diverse.” Listening to Katy Perry AND Avril Lavigne, or Journey AND Kansas does not an eclectic music palate make. If you love Led Zeppelin AND Yanni, or Roy Orbison AND Tupac, that’s diverse, mother fucker. Okay, I admit I am a bit of a music snob and I worship everything about High Fidelity. I listen to lyrics and they matter to me. The songs don’t have to be deep, they just need to deliver what they’re peddling. If they are selling sex, don’t cover it up with towel wrap. Show the bikini. I spend nights listening to music, looking up lyrics and still make myriad playlists as often as I compiled mixtapes in the 80’s and 90’s. Consequently, I’ve been teaching my kids to listen to music to elevate, punctuate or mirror their mood as early as they could talk. One of my most excellent parental pride moments was hearing then two year old Blair, strapped in her carseat, exclaim, “Want Gloria Gaynor!” I used to cry but now I hold my head up high.

Finding your musical state of mind really is one of the best coping mechanisms out there in my opinion. Except the times when the music betrays you. No one likes to feel duped. It has happened to most of us at one point or another, and it feels like a deception each time it happens. You are running errands in your car or are stuck in traffic and you turn on the radio. You stumble upon an unfamiliar radio station, or one that changed its programming without consulting you. Assholes. You stop and listen. The tune sounds okay. You don’t love it. You don’t hate it, but you can’t quite place it. It’s not like listening to lyrics about patriotism or truck driving, which you identify immediately as country music and change the channel as quickly as possible. If you feel like guns and status, you turn to rap. The point is you know what you are likely to get when you go there. You don’t look for peace or heavy social commentary when you listen to Britney Spears. And let me say I pray for your soul if you listen to Britney Spears (unless you know she’s superficial, in which case, get on with your shallow self). You keep listening to the song on the radio. Then your brain registers the words your ears are hearing: purity, praise, my boyfriend Jesus. You realize you are listening to, and not yet choking on, Contemporary Christian music. It’s like seeing a good looking ass and realizing it’s your mother’s. Or like walking in on your geriatric uncle taking a shower with the curtain open. If I want to get my sin on, I’m worshiping with The Smiths. And if I have any influence over my kids, they will too.