letting go

For some reason, the Bee has developed an affection for country and western music. I mean no offense to those fans of country music who read this blog, but I just don’t get it. In addition to my not getting it, I actively dislike country music, in no small part due to the fact that my evil stepfather used to take my mom country-line dancing when they were first dating. Remember the 80s?

My stepfather, I should add, thinks it’s hilarious that the Bee likes country music. That’s just the kind of ass prince he is.

Every morning, the Bee’s clock radio goes off to the dulcet sounds of some country crooner, and I cringe. To be totally honest, I just want to set her radio to a different station, but so far I’ve managed to resist the temptation. And really, it’s not like I want her listening to Top 40–she’s only 7. I’d just understand it better if she did.

I knew this day was coming–the day that one of my kids would be interested in something that I don’t like. I didn’t really think it would happen this early, but it’s here. I don’t want the Bee or the Potato to think that they can only enjoy things their parents like, or that they have to get our approval for every taste they develop. I want to be mature about it, to be a reasonable parent who can let her kid branch out and do things that are different, to have kids who are individual and smart and discerning.

But my god, what if she asks for Toby Keith tickets?

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January 9, 2007. growing up. 13 comments.