Thank You Bruce Springsteen
I know – I know – what was I thinking letting an 8 (now 9) year old listen to Bruce Springsteen over and over. It was bound to happen. This morning it did.
Driving to school, the Dude stopped the CD in the middle of Born to Run, backed it up, started it again, listening intently.
“There – that – what does he mean?”
Never one to lie – but then again, never one to just blurt out the truth when it’s not absolutely necessary – I said,
“Hmm, it might have something to do with sex.”
No response.
“Then again, it might be about motorcycles. Like maybe she is straddling a motorcycle – hanging onto the engines.” I’m obviously making this up as I go – but it’s not so bad.
The Dude stares at me, “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
Right.
Driving to school, the Dude stopped the CD in the middle of Born to Run, backed it up, started it again, listening intently.
“There – that – what does he mean?”
‘Wrap your legs ‘round these velvet rims,
And strap your hands ‘cross my engines.’?”
Never one to lie – but then again, never one to just blurt out the truth when it’s not absolutely necessary – I said,
“Hmm, it might have something to do with sex.”
No response.
“Then again, it might be about motorcycles. Like maybe she is straddling a motorcycle – hanging onto the engines.” I’m obviously making this up as I go – but it’s not so bad.
The Dude stares at me, “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
Right.
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Dad