He loves for me to turn the radio up, and he'll sing along with every song quite loudly from the backseat (sadly, he inherited his mother's singing voice, so I've had to replace a few inadvertently cracked windows, but that's neither here nor there).
He's also pretty opinionated about his tastes for a 5 year old. He tells me what CDs he wants me to play, which songs he wants me to skip and which ones he wants me to repeat.
I've been told that he walks around school singing songs throughout the day. And I don't mean songs like "Old MacDonald Had A Farm" or "Oh my darling, Clementine." No, I'm talking about the songs currently being played on country radio (which is what we listen to -- don't judge me), which invariably tickles all the teachers. "Give me that girl with her hair in a mess, sleepy little smile with her head on my chest..." is not standard preschool classroom fare.
As much as my son enjoys music on the radio or CDs, he most especially loves live music. Granted, he doesn't get a whole lot of live music in his life because, let's face it, the Handlebar frowns on my taking him down there. The one place he reliably gets live music, though, is the Saturday Market in downtown Greenville.
Any time I announce that we're headed to the market, his first question is if we can listen to the music. And, unless we're bizarrely pressed for time or something, I let him indulge in it for as long as he wants, which, as it turns out, can be a really long time.
We went to the market this past weekend. After patiently tolerating my irrational insistence on purchasing some blackberries and peaches (We're here for the music, Mom, not this pesky food!), we headed straight for the tent where a man and woman were playing simple folks songs to an audience of exactly zero. In all fairness, I'm sure a few folks walked by a little slower or at least turned their heads in the general direction of the music, but no one was sitting around listening.
Enter my son.
He plopped down in the middle of the street (yes, it was closed off the for the event) and sat mesmerized for song after song after song. Every few minutes, he'd stick his hand in the plastic bag by his side and pull out a blackberry to pop in his mouth. Aside from that, he was like a little cross-legged boy statue.
And he was completely content for ages. After every song, he'd look up at me with these pleading eyes and ask if we could stay "just one more song." "Just one more song" turned into about 15. I get the feeling that music lessons of some sort need to be in his future.
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