My sons love pop music. Despite literally raising them on Bob Dylan, Dan Bern and The International Jewish Banking Conspiracy, They Might Be Giants, Israeli extravaganza David Broza, and Peter, Paul, and Mary, my 5- and 8-year-olds like gyrating in their car seats to Pink, Katy Perry, Macklemore, Drake, and–yes–Miley Cyrus.
I didn’t used to play any music in the car for the first years of my older son’s life. I was that hippy who believed that my son’s interactions should be with voices and conversation only. It worked with #1, but once #2 came along, #1 was almost 3 and was already used to hearing music by then. Also, #2 screamed bloody murder in the car for literally two full years, and sometimes music helped drown out his screaming. Or at least provided some illusion of drowning it out. (Ugh, those years sucked big time.)
Anyway. I played CDs for my sons initially but at some point the radio became introduced (should I blame my ex? OK! Just kidding, Mike. Sort of.). And that was the end of the innocence. Pop music is like the best candy ever. It’s generally mindless. It has no nutritional value. But it tastes so good. Like really delicious. Yummy. So yeah, I get it. I like pop music, too.
The issue is that pop music is/has become, in some cases, kind of racy. I am generally admittedly a socially conservative fuddy-duddy even though I am a complete bleeding heart liberal politically. Read the rest of this entry →