Even some distance from our front door, I could hear someone playing the piano and see others dancing. That we gave up on piano lessons years ago will give you some idea of the quality of the music; still, it was nice that while I’d been at the grocery store the children had been amusing themselves by pressing on something other than a touch screen. The 9-year-old jumped off the piano stool when she saw me coming and raced over. She was bubbling with excitement.
“Guess what! I just taught myself to play a pop song on the piano!”
“That’s nice, sweetie.”
“I’ve been practicing and practicing. It goes –”
She took a deep breath and began to sing, and as her innocent warbling took shape and formed lyrics, and the lyrics sank in, I felt my mouth drop open in horror.
“Let’s go all the way tonight! No regrets, just love,” she sang.
“What?” I interrupted with a yelp. “Sweetheart, what are you singing? Where did you hear that?”
“What’s the matter? It’s Katy Perry,” she said, puzzled. “Everybody knows that song. It’s on the radio all the time.”
“It’s very popular,” said the 11-year-old.
“No regrets, just love,” echoed the 5-year-old, who likes to be part of things.
“Do you even know –” I started to say, and bit back the rest of the sentence.
At moments like these, parental reaction can be all. Did I really want to ask them whether they knew that the song is about getting drunk and hitting the motel sheets? And if they didn’t know it, did I really want to explain the lyrics of “Teenage Dream” to them? No, I did not. Sometimes it is better to move swiftly off a dangerous topic, and this was one of them.
“Girls, that is not a good song for you,” I said in as light a tone as I could.
“I’m glad you were experimenting with the piano, but how about you try a more appropriate song.
“What about –” I cast about for popular music we all knew — “the Beatles?” (As I said this, the words “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” and “Why Don’t We Do It In the Road?” flashed through my head but I kept my smile to myself.)
“Why don’t you try “Penny Lane?”
“Penny Lane!” the pianist exclaimed, and ran to the keyboard.
I don’t know whether parents once worried about the effects of Mozart or Tommy Dorsey on their children, but there’s no doubt that mothers have quailed at lyrics for decades now.
The incident brought to mind an episode from long ago when I was the 9-year-old and my mother was visiting her parents, whom we saw infrequently because they lived overseas.
Soon after we arrived, my beaming grandmother asked, “Meg, do you know any songs?”
No doubt she had in mind, “Frere Jacques” or “Do-Re-Mi.”
“Yes.” My father, being a particular fan of the Rolling Stones, had acquainted me with lots of songs beyond the standard childhood repertoire.
“Will you sing one for me?”
“OK,” said I, and began to warble innocently.
“Let’s spend the night together! Now I need you more than ever. Let’s spend the night together now …”
My poor mother — the memory still makes her wince.
Meghan Cox Gurdon’s column appears on Sunday and Thursday. She can be contacted at [email protected].
