Thursday, March 01, 2007

Rock Star

I think I need to just keep our camcorder packed in Arlo's diaper bag. Because, if I did, it would stand to reason that if I am out and about with Arlo, I will be equipped to record for all posterity--and for that $100,000 prize on AFV--the impossibly endearing things he does when we are out in the world. At least this time I had witnesses.

Tuesday night I took the whole family with me to a party in a bar. Well, it was the annual holiday staff party for New Pioneer Co-op, where I was once employed and am now a member of the Board of Directors. Normally I would not drag my two-and-a-half-year-old son to a bar on a Tuesday night, but there was free food to be had--and I am in the habit lately of escaping drudgerous tasks, such as cooking, at every available opportunity. In my defense, the Mill does not allow smoking in the dining room area until 9 p.m..

The entertainment at the party was a staff "open mic" night, so a parade of New Pi staff members strummed, sang, and recited poetry while we devoured our lasagna. I daresay that the Co-op has a better number of talented musicians among the staff of cashiers, pastry chefs, delivery drivers, and meat cutters than does the average grocery store--and we found the performances to be pretty good overall.

Arlo definitely had a favorite.

One staff member--his forehead clad in a flame-emblazoned sweatband, no less--played the ELECTRIC GUITAR. Now, Arlo has seen, and been enamored with, many a stringed instrument in recent months, including guitars, a banjo, a mandolin, and an upright bass. He also is quite good at playing the harmonica, piano, and drums, if'n you ask me. Or him.

But the electric guitar? Arlo was spellbound. For seconds on end. He was riveted. What in God's name is that incredible sound?, he seemed to ask, his head cocked to one side, a little ribbon of saliva trailing down his chin. And then...

He ROCKED OUT.

He jumped, twisted, bounced, and spun. His mop top hairdo was flying, I tell you. I saw a glimpse of the future, and my teenage son will be in a garage rock band. And he will be the lead guitarist.

The best part? He hopped over to me on one leg, in a sort of a Marty-McFly-at-the-high-school-dance air guitar move, and I knew he wanted me to get up and dance with him. I had a better idea.

"Do this, Arlo!" I said, raising my fist above my head and nodding my head furiously up and down.

And he did. My son, my pride and joy, headbanged like a pro. It was like a light bulb switched on, and he realized that "OHHHHHHH, this is how you dance to the electric guitar!"

It was a proud moment for me. My kid rocks. I just wish I had been able to get it on film.

1 comment:

mark said...

I'm sure there's a name for the law that states you will never, ever have a video recording device on hand when you most desperately need it.