For those of you who have been following my blog, you may remember my son, Jack’s, obsession with Halloween. And if you’re not familiar, in a nutshell, the three-year old was unwilling to give up the holiday and refused to admit that Halloween had a beginning and an end. He was angry at grocery stores when he noticed spooky displays being taken down and forced me to keep a string of pumpkin lights burning bright well into the Christmas season.
We thought that was odd.
Jack has a new obsession and I’m not quite sure how to approach this specific one. He spends a lot of time talking about it, singing about it and dancing about it.
And what is this newest obsession?
The one and only.
I should clarify that Jack’s adoration is actually centered on the music of Michael Jackson, not so with the person. Which makes me feel a littlebetter. Because, love him or hate him, that man was certainly talented and produced a lot of toe-tapping sounds.
Which happens to be what Jack loves to do. Tap his toes. And shake his hips. And sing his songs. And present me with slightly disturbing scenarios. He’s awesome at that.
This all started at Halloween when Jack heard the song, “Thriller”, playing on the radio. He was hooked from the get-go andcouldn’t get enough of it. At every opportunity he was singing along, making up words tocompensate for hissomewhat limited vocabulary. I can assureyou thatthe words “poopy pants” and “spankin-stein” made it in. He’s particularly fond of those.
I also noticed that he started singing Michael Jackson songs in bed at night. Since he was about a year old Jack has been singing himself to sleep. But up until recently he was practicing more of a Buddhist monk chant kind of thing, a single noted “Bwahmamama——mamamama—-.” I have to say I”m enjoying the more hip and melodic “Beat it” to the spooky chanting.
Well, as most obsessions go, Jack’s has progressed to a new level. His dad made the mistake of introducing the boy to YouTube. Like a kid in a candy store he practically salivates at the mass number of videos available at his tiny little finger tips. Now, before you go anonymously notifying Child Protective Services, Jack is not surfing the ‘net all by himself. He stands behind Jer on the office chair while he’s working, and watches the video over Jer’s shoulder. At any point during the day I will hear “Billy Jean is not my lover,” or “Remember the time…we fell in love” thumping through the walls, Jack’s voice straining to rise above the speakers.
As with most obsessions, I’m sure in time, this too shall fade. I have no doubt that Jack will shy away fromthe music of MichaelJackson and find something new to obsess about. Until then we’llplay along. Whether we’restaging fake gang fights like “Beat it”,click-clacking our way down lighted tiles like “Billy Jean” or channeling our inner-monster like “Thriller” it makes the little guy happy. Which makes me happy.
Sometimes it’s the little things…
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!