When my sister and I were little kids, we loved to listen to the Marlo Thomas-driven, be-yourself-and-love-yourself, I’m-okay-and-you’re-okay Free to Be… You and Me on our cassette player and totally rock out to Shel Silverstein poems set to music.
Lisa bought the cd and dvd set for Angel Face for Christmas, and now that she’s singing along to stuff she likes, I thought we’d start listening to it in the car. So this week (when I’ve been handling the dropoffs) we listen to it in the morning.
It’s absolutely adorable the way Angel Face responds to the kid-centric music. The only other thing she responds to with such verve is the heavy bass line in gangsta rap, but I’ve been admonished not to listen to that with her anymore.
What I wasn’t counting on was my response. To see her getting such joy out of something I remember loving as a kid (even when my 2nd grade play was Free to Be… You and Me and I didn’t get a very good part – damn you Mrs. Seals), it honestly brings tears to my eyes every time. Birthing that child has totally ripped out every nerve I have and left them quivering on the surface, just waiting for the errant Gerber commercial or old Full House episode to cause a rush of emotions that can’t help but come out my eyes.