Just ran five miles in Central Park while listening to my new playlist, Enzo’s Top Ten Green Day Songs, in an attempt to be a better father and understand my oldest son’s budding adolescent angst.
While I let the constant banging on the drums drive my stride, it was difficult to understand the lyrics; heard a lot of “Mom and Dad don’t understand, I’m in a Rock & Roll band, my mind is about to explode.”
Oh, well, I gave it a shot. Guess it just gets harder to comprehend as each passing day and every fraying synapse of memory widen the gap between me and my own teenage years. Plus, as far as I recall, my frustration then was mostly a matter of pubescent frustration; I don’t recall having any axe to grind or desire for anarchy. Guess, I owe that mostly to my parents. Thanks Mom and Dad.
But than again, I could also blame my relative pacifism on the Disco I used to listen to on my AM radio and tape cassette player—Off The Wall was certainly nothing like American Idiot.