True Art

Today, Bonus' third grade class went on a field trip to the state art museum. Sheshe had warned me that this was the 'enlightening' excursion for the kids as they had a bunch of naked statues. Fully prepared for the discussion of his trip, I began quizzing him right off the bus.

"So, how was your field trip, Bonus?!"

"Meh. It kinda sucked. There were just a bunch of weird paintings," he explained, emotionless. Naturally, I pressed. Because I am 12.

"Yeah? What else did they have there? Were there any Picasso's? Monet's?"

"Ummmm. I dunno. There were a bunch of weird statues of naked people. So that sucked."

Feeling accomplished that we had moved past the 'experience' and he wasn't scarred, we moved on to homework and dinner. After dinner, he began singing a song that one of the kids in his class taught him. Apparently, "Little Johnny" has been listening to his parent's Beastie Boys music and has memorized the.entire.Paul.Revere.song. Fortunatly, my little sponges have soaked it up, verse by verse and even had the rests in the appropriate places. Honestly, I don't mind the Beastie Boys. We jam their music most of the time in the Tahoe. Well, as long as respectible adults aren't riding along... But the lyrics to this song and the inflection they were using over certain words had me a little worried.

When Bonus realized we knew the song and "Little Johnny" hadn't made it up after all, he began begging us to play it for him. Naturally, we said no, because we can't find the CD because we are good, upstanding parents who don't let their kids listen to that sort of foul language. Ahem.

Annoyed that we had chosen now to act like parents, Bonus went to bed pouting. When confronted on his attitude, he snarked back, "Listen, I spent the day staring at cavemen with GIGANTIC boulders for BALLS. You think THAT SONG is going to mess me up?!"

I had to leave the room.