Just Motown

Every now and then, while driving Cleo about town, I manage to slip in a few minutes of ESPN Radio. Maybe I hear a slice of the kerfuffle surrounding Miami football, or a fraction of a heated analysis of Reggie Bush's prospects for the coming year. Usually, though, before I manage to get any rounded picture of the issue being debated, a small but insistent voice briskly cuts through the prattling announcers, saying, play music. And who, really, can object? Someday, I assume, Cleo may learn the appeal of a good debate about Yankees and the BoSox, but, sure, for the most part we have been trying to nudge her towards more cultured sounds.

In that vein, we've relied rather heavily on the sage advice of more experienced parents - such as Cleo's aunt, who steered us towards the nifty compilation CD Jazz for Kids. Featuring, as you may recall from an earlier post, a stirring version of Old MacDonald, that was a huge hit, but it's recently been eclipsed by a companion CD from the same warehouse. That'd be Motown for Kids, featuring seminal works by Stevie Wonder, the Jackson Five and others - and offering enough musical energy to meet your average toddler at least halfway. Every now and then, the sheer intensity of the music can feel slightly inappropriate: I prefer, for instance, to take my commute a touch slowly, without Martha Reeves and the Vandellas in the background. For the most part, though, the compilation's a winner, and can even open onto further discussion. When The Marvelettes plead with Mr. Postman, for instance, it's a chance to explain to Cleo exactly why mail used to be so important. And why exactly ain't, I imagine Cleo wondering, as Marvin Gaye sings, no mountain high enough? Explaining that, in words comprehensible to a toddler, is harder than you might think.

But anyway: I begin to digress. The point is, now you've got enough background to appreciate, I think, my favorite recent exchange with Cleo. While driving:

Me: Cleo, would you like some water?

Cleo: No, just Motown.