I know, I Know, I Know, I Know
Note: If you've somehow forgotten or are unfamiliar with the 1972 Bill Withers' hit, "Ain't No Sunshine", jump on YouTube and check it out so you'll know what's happening at the end of this story.
Where to start when it comes to kids, right? Raisin' 'em is akin to receiving a 20 years to life sentence. Any way you slice it you've got a couple decades of house arrest, home incarceration... detention--whatever you wanna call it--followed by a possible life sentence, depending on how dependent they turn out. A tad negative coming out of the box, I know, but I did raise two so I'm familiar with the drill. And, frankly, it makes for a better opening paragraph than rattling off a checklist of all the remarkable, fulfilling, stimulating, enriching, gratifying and, yeah, even seemingly miraculous events entailed in parenting on a daily basis. Still, bottom line, it's a ton of work, so getting the opportunity to turn the tables on 'em, especially at an early age, when they're practically tethered to you--and, let's face it, not all that hip as to what's happenin'--just seems like a case of good 'ol down home fun. Wait a sec, I'm not recommending messing with their little heads here, am I?... Damn skippy, I am!
Okay, before you go calling Social Services, hear me out and know that no children were hurt in the making of this blog. Certainly, I'm not advocating playing head games with infants, right? 'Cause that'd be, like, depraved on so many levels. Sorry, but after witnessing a slew of online videos depicting crying babies stopping mid sob when, "whap!", a slice of cheese is tossed onto their little foreheads, causing the flabbergasted child to stare incredulously at its parents bent over in hysterical laughter?... yeah, gotta say, I'm down. Likewise, the viral clips depicting baking episodes with pre-school-aged children and their parents using their kids' noggins in place of a bowl rim to crack their eggs. Damn hilarious (for the grownups, I mean). So, basically, we're talkin' benign hijinks. No harm, no foul. Granted, if down the road, these kids suffer a mental breakdown espying the deli counter guy slicing a pound of provolone or wind up in the fetal position in the dairy aisle, then yeah, maybe we reconsider.
So, all of this brings me to my particular head game with my son, Sean, back when he was a preschooler, eons ago, long before the confluence of social media and dairy products were even a thing, his forehead never in harm's way. His brain, however?... Anyway, enter Bill Withers' song, "Ain't No Sunshine" as we drive in the car, Sean strapped in alongside me in the passenger seat, content to look out the window at the sights around him as I sing along with the tune. No big deal. Just another day. Only it wasn't. It was the beginning of the perfect storm. As I continued to chime in with Bill: "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone... And this house just ain't no home... Anytime she goes away"... it hit me what was suddenly coming and I realized the kid didn't stand a chance.
"And, I know, I know, I know, I know... I know, I know, I know, I know"... That's right, eight of 'em in a row. Me and Mr. Withers totally in sync. Sean, not so much, now eschewing the outside world, clearly fixated on me, his ears perked, the wheels turning in his head, wondering just what the deal is here. I continue: "I know, I know, I know, I know... I know, I know, I know, I know"... Sixteen "I knows" in a row. Way, way, way too many. And yet, me and this dude on the radio seem cool with it. Like we can just "I know" our way into next Tuesday. That's what the kid's thinkin', I can tell. That and it sounds like the record's skipping but how the heck could Dad anticipate something like that? I slog on, "I know, I know, know, I know"... Another four to grow on. Twenty total. It's chaos, I tell ya. The little guy is beyond bewildered. If I was at a light I'm pretty sure he'd have jumped out. I finally finish up: "I know, I know, I know, I know"... I give him a wink... "I know, I know", the last two for good measure (pun intended). Twenty-six total... Game. Set. Match.
So, yeah, I messed with my son's head. I could've assuaged his concerns by telling him that the song was a fluke, how Withers never meant for all those "I knows" to make the cut; how he was just using them as filler during an early recording session until he came up with rest of the lines to the song, only the producers liked it and convinced him to keep 'em in. I could've but I didn't. I mean, he was only four; it was probably too much to process. Or, at least, that was my rationalization. That and the fact that acting nonchalantly about the whole scene while Sean's world was momentarily on tilt was very funny. Hilarious, even... Afterward, I'd catch him giving me the side-eye from time to time (hell, I think he still does) but the subject was never broached again. In hindsight, do I feel guilty? Yeah, maybe a tad but, hey, it's not child abuse. Not really (at least not premeditated). And like I said earlier, kids are a lot of work so if the opportunity comes along to have a little fun at their expense, ya know, providing there's no lingering effects, then where's the harm?... Again, I'm rationalizing, I know... I know.