My son Tobin's Rock and Roll side showed up again today. At the Norman Music Festival, when the Sugar Free Allstars told kids to "Put your hands in the air," Tobin crouched and put his hands on the ground. When they shouted, "Jump around! Jump around!," Tobin stood stock still. When the Allstars urged their audience to "Spin around!" Tobin strutted, nay, swaggered through the toddler mosh pit giving half-nods to nearby parents and generally looking really fucking bad-ass for a two-year-old.
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Tobin's punk attitude got started last summer, when he was about twenty months old. While driving him and his older sister to the grocery store, I told them to get ready for some rock and roll, then I blasted The Alarm's "Three Sevens Clash."
Apparently that song made an impression. At the store, when left alone for a quiet moment in the cart, while Cora and I wandered a few feet away to look at cereals, Tobin chucked his fancy new aluminum water bottle to the tile floor. When everyone in sight looked at him, he raised his fists and shouted--I kid you not--"ROCK AND ROLL!"
Oddly, "Three Sevens Clash" represents, for me, the energy an aging punk rocker can still conjure up when he's well into middle age. Mike Peters (The Alarm's singer) wasn't among the first wave of punk rockers, but he followed along soon enough. He's getting up there now, having survived a cancer scare or two.
When Tobin is ready, though, I'll start him on the Ramones.
When. He's. Ready.
You should add that funny Facebook video of your son head-butting the camera during the concert.
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