We’re in the car, driving home from swim practice. I insist on listening to classical music on the radio, despite the nine year old’s exaggerated gagging in the back seat. To be completely honest, mostly because of the nine year old’s exaggerated gagging.
“I can’t believe you listen to grandma music, ” Trinity shakes her head sadly, “I just can’t believe it.”
“Better believe it sweet cheeks, and this isn’t ‘grandma’ music,” I tell her.
My eleven year old, Will, jumps to my aid. “Yeah, Trinity, it’s not grandma music, this stuff is a lot older than that. It’s like great, great, great grandma music.”
“Not helping Will,” I reply.
My two older children begin bickering with each other over who knows more classical music composers.
“Beethoven!” Trinity shouts out.
“You mean Ludwig Beethoven?” Will counters.
“They just like using their last name,” Trinity maintains.
They go back and forth with each other and I’m fairly impressed that they know so many composers. At this moment every check I have ever written for piano lessons has paid off ten-fold.
Finally, it is Will’s turn to come up with a name. He pauses, clearly struggling, while Trinity prepares her celebratory speech. Unable to concede his sister as the winner he shouts out, “Stevie Wonder!”
There is a long pause in the car.
Will defends his choice, “Well….he’s a great American composer!”
It is right then that I realize for the forty millionth time this week, that I have the very best kids in the entire world.
And now I must leave you and go listen to Superstition, which I freely admit, is a classic.