I have tried over the years to share my love of rock music with my sons, Jimmy, Tommy and Ronnie, and now enjoy the benefits of my hard work.
When the whole family is in the car, I can count on them to back me up in choosing a radio station that pleases most of the family. My husband Ron’s redneck country music does not stand a chance in the company of me and my little rockers.
Now that Jimmy is a teenager, he is old enough to correct me when I sing the wrong words to classic songs like Led Zeppelin’s "Stairway to Heaven" even as he appreciates the same music as his mom. He also knows who the real gods of rock and roll are compared with the many wannabes out there.
That’s why I was embarrassed a few weeks ago when Jimmy and I were cruising down the road and I found myself singing along to a song that turned out to be by Kid Rock.
"I can’t believe you haven’t heard this song," Jimmy said, as the D.J. played another tune and I hoped the Kid’s song would fade from my mind. But instead of slipping away like summer vacation, the song got stuck in my head for about two days.
Then I did what I always do when I like a song by someone who doesn’t fit into my personal Rock and Roll Hall of Fame; I looked it up on iTunes.
Within minutes, I expected to download Kid Rock’s song onto my computer without anyone knowing my taste in music had slipped a little into the redneck rock genre. However, I quickly discovered that something was amiss. The song was not on iTunes.
I began to examine other options. An image of me adding a Kid Rock CD to my formidable collection of rock artists was scary enough to make me forget the song ... almost. I could picture his grinning, scruffy face and I could almost hear his rough voice wisecracking in my ear, "Hey Zich, I finally gotcha, didn’t I?"
How far was I willing to go to satisfy this latest musical craving that goes against my idea of what good music really is?
My answer was a compromise. I bought the CD, but not in a public place where my friends might see me. Instead, I ordered it from the Internet, so it will arrive in my mailbox in a discreet little box. Only Ron and the boys will know the Kid has invaded my music collection and hopefully, they won’t tell anybody.
I plan to listen to that one song until it is no longer stuck in my head and try not to get hooked on the entire CD. If that happens, I don’t want to think of what could be next.
Will I be adding Kid Rock’s debut CD, "Grits Sandwiches for Breakfast," to my collection next? Perhaps I will drag the kids to one of his concerts and try to sneak backstage for an autograph.
If I decide to give up writing and become a Kid Rock groupie, you will be the first to know!
In the meantime, I am trying not to count the days until my package arrives. When it does, maybe I will finally get the words right when I sing along.
Pam Zich has been married to a Marine for 17 years and currently lives in Springfield, Va. You may e-mail her at email@example.com or visit her Web site at www.lifeonthehomefront.com.