To Songs we Sing to Children

The morning Whit was born, when he was wrapped and warm and well, Keith scooped him up into the crook of his arm and spoke the first words he could think of:

   Let us go then, you and I, 

When the evening is spread out against the sky 

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Prufrock are not usual the first words a baby hears, but the melody of the lines is undeniable, the rhythm so calm and besides,  a baby will never understand the angst beneath it. This is daddy, his voice, the way he rocks.

Over time, we developed our favorites. Bare Naked Ladies for nap time and Jimmy Cliff for playtime. We made him mix tapes of Beatles and Bob Dylan. Carlos Santana and Little Richard. 

At bedtime every night I sang, “If I Had a Boat” by Lyle Lovett,

    If I had a boat

   I'd go out on the ocean

   And if I had a pony 

   I'd ride him on my boat.

And when he sings, “Kiss my ass, I bought a boat…” I'd sing it too and hope it didn't make its way into the preschool classroom the next day.

We walked a thin line, I know, about what was appropriate and what was not. But singing to children often works. They drift off to sleep or become distracted on a long road trip or pass time waiting at the DMV so much more easily when we sing to them. To keep our sanity, we picked songs we knew, songs we loved that, at least melodically, could also work for a toddler.

And then, one day, my toddler son turns and sings to me. We are out shopping and he's riding in the cart. I'm deciding between cereals and his eyes get big. He begins to sing along, a song I know but not one I have sung often. But he knows every word and sings with feeling:

Some...times in our lives

We all have pain

We all have sorrow… 

I wonder what he knows already. Three years old and he's singing like he means it. 

Lean on me