The Black Eye Peas? Dinner or a pop group? It’s hard Getting old and keeping up with kids.
“Tonight’s gonna be a dood night”
“Tonight’s gonna be a dood, dood night”
Hey, where I come from the “Black Eye Peas” is a dish you eat with hotlinks.
Well, not any longer. Now, they are a part of my three-year-old son’s daily vernacular.
Sitting there, devouring a cupcake, my preschooler brought the group Black Eye Peas to my midwest kitchen. After hearing him sing the above lyrics over and over, I rushed to my computer to investigate.
“What in the world is a “dood” night??”
Well, I found that the group is a pop phenomenon of four young, hip rock stars. I’m not sure, but their music seems somewhat benign, so I let John-John continue the chorus he learned that day pre-school.
But the issue is deeper, darker, and much more terrifying than John-John singing a pop song.
The real “issue” is when did I become that old lady without a clue of what’s popular with the kiddos and teens? When Ben (my eighteen year old) was younger, I purposely kept my “mommie” ear to the grindstone to know what was popular, what the kids were singing and the latest teen fashions. I always wanted to be one step ahead of him as it related to pop culture.
Staying “clued in” to youth culture enabled me to be a more relevant and effective mom. That way I could support him or talk to him about Snoop Dogg’s latest song or whatever.
I knew he’d be exposed to a lot in the outside world and my job was to prepare him for it. Questions like “Do you think it’s right to call someone that name?” or “Is it necessary to curse like that in a song?” Rather than yelling at him or [always] forbidding things, I wanted to empower him to think through such concepts on his own.
After all, I wouldn’t always be there.
Back to the issue at hand. Now, I’m just…well… too old. All we watch on TV are old seventies movies and a few documentaries here and there. Heck, I listen mostly to G.E. Patterson, Gary Oliver, and Israel Houghton on my Ipod. Wait! I am getting into Toby Mac, but he’s about as old as I am. Having a baby late in life really takes a toll. The gray hair is like kryptonite, man.
Pray that I wake up before he turns thirteen. He’ll need me then to be “hip” and prepare him for pop culture too. Hey, does anyone still say “hip”? Or is it dope? Sick…oh Lord. Pray for me. 🙂
It’s not easy getting old and keeping with your kid.
Update: He’s 13. Ugh. I’m even lamer than I was then. Mom life, right?
Getting old and keeping up … that’s the job of moms forever, I think.
