All four of my boys were singing a song today in perfect unison. They’re actually all very good singers. David has had near perfect pitch since the age of one, though he considers singing talent something that should be deeply hidden so as not to be deemed as “uncool” by his peers.
Before you go thinking that we’re on the heels of some One Direction boy band incarnation or planning to go on a Partridge Family inspired cross-country mini-van tour, you should know about a number of concerns I had with this spontaneous musical outburst, each one more disturbing than the next.
- The song they were singing was Whistle by Flo Rida. While it’s a catchy, upbeat tune, finding much air time on Top 40 stations, the lyrics are not a particularly subtly veiled reference to a certain activity once favored by a President of the United States and his intern. I don’t believe any of them are necessarily aware of that, but I am, and it’s awkward to hear my children crooning about it.
- They’ve added lyrics to the little whistling refrain in the song. “I’ve got chunky poop. I’ve got chunky poop. I’ve got chunky poop. I’ve got chunky poop.”
- And maybe the worst part about the whole spectacle is that the writing credit for the updated song appears to go solely to Alex.
Lennon/McCartney they are not.
© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2012