I am the astro creep, a demolition style hell America’s Freak!
I am rocking out. I feel like once again I am 20 years old with hair. I am in good shape and it no longer matters that I am actually 32. I am young and hip. Yes, I am more human than human. I am the astro creep, I am that perfect image of what I thought I would be when I got older.
I am drumming on the steering wheel like I am a member of Guns and Roses. Yes, that’s the beat baby, that’s the beat. My bottom lipped is tucked up under the teeth in what can only be described as the Rock and Roll Sneer. I grunt with each sound of the bass. White Zombie rules all.
I refuse to care that anyone can see me in the car and that brings on the head bob. I am a rock god. I’m singing and bobbing. I can imagine myself in front of the sold out crowd of the Mega Rock Theater, fans going wild, the guitar riff that I do on the steering wheel is silhouetted by the spotlights that just are not bright enough to contain my rock glory.
I look in my review mirror and see the most amazing beautiful site during my single man rock out concert.
Little Hoss is doing the rock and roll head bang right along with me.
Thank you Jesus for all that you have given me.
This is to great. Does my 15 month year old daughter actually have a taste for the hard stuff. Is she Mini-Metallica, only being held back by the fact that she doesn’t know the words to Enter Sandman? I have been blessed.
Little Hoss is starting to do the head bob even more than me. My singlet has become a duo of Rock Stardom. We are the Juke Box Hero. We are the next American Idol that comes in a SUV. She lacks only a baby arm band and a tattoo and she would be good to go. Maybe even get her a chain wallet, complete with an extra set of guitar picks.
That’s it Little Hoss, become one with Korn. Come undone baby, let it all go. See the heaven that you have given your father who couldn’t take much more of The Ants go Marching On. Screw the Ants and stopping to tie their shoe, this is Twisted Transistor. Head bang Little Hoss, head bang with Daddy! If you are happy and you know it, rock out with Tool.
But maybe this is to good to be true. Maybe I am just seeing things. Maybe she is just hungry. I switch the song to a Neil Diamond tune that we used to listen to. The rocker’s lungs come out and wail in protest. I change it to a Little Mermaid ditty that I keep on the Ipod. Again, she wails as if to tell me that if I can’t be the rocking father that she deserves she will quickly find someone who can.
I switch on a little Disturbed and Land of Confusion. This is a remake of a Phil Collins song, only with a hard edge and a couple of grunts. Yup, that’s the beat that she has grown to like. She looks at me when I am no longer doing the head bob and gives me a scowl. Time for Dad to nut-up. Ok, Little Hoss, let’s see how far down the slide you want to ride.
We put on some Spacelord and she goes nuts. Not only is she doing the head bob, she is banging side to side in her car seat. It’s a mosh pit in my back seat and toys are being crushed. Mr. Bear can’t handle it and gets tossed over to the side. Little Barbie paramedics come to drag him off before he gets trampled. Octi the Octopus—you are a wimp, see ya later.
I throw up the horns and start the sign of the Devil, every rockers sign that we are going overboard into the land of sweet oblivion. Follow my lead Little Hoss, trust in Daddy.
I see her stop and look at me. She smiles, then laughs, and up goes the right hand. It’s like Little Hoss was born to do this. The head and the hand are in perfect unison. She can’t quite get her fingers up, but no matter, the intent is there. She is a two foot tall rock god and I am her roadie.
I have no idea how I have managed to stay on the road as we are traveling back from the day care where I pick her up. Between the head bobbing and the rearview mirror watching I am amazed that I haven’t rear ended someone at this point. This can only mean that this has been ordained by god.
Some fathers have teach their children how to save money. Some give them advice on how to work hard. I have taught my daughter how to growl, give high fives, and rock out. I am superdad once again, the greatest father to ever live.
Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Led Zepplin, and even some Elvis because he is still fucking cool and relevant. My life has just changed for the better and I can’t wait to tell my wife about our head banging mosh pit that is the back seat of my Hyundai.
I get home and I am full of excitement. “Honey” I exclaim, “Guess what Little Hoss did today!”
I tell her the story and then she lays a bomb down on me.
“She did that yesterday when we were listening to EVE.” It takes me a minute to realize who she means. The hip/hop female star? The one that sang with Gwenn Stephani? The one that doesn’t wear many clothes and short, short, short shorts?
My world has changed once again in a span of less than 10 minutes. I have visions of my daughter wearing hooker shorts and having a nose ring while a pasty covers her nipples. I imagine my daughter talking like an idiot singing about how good it is to have sex like Christina Aguilera. I can hear my daughter rocking out about how she wants a “candyman”.
Nope, not in this life time. Not while I have breath is this going to happen. I will do everything in my power so that my daughter does not become a LISA.
You know LISA, you have met her. She is that slutty looking girl at all rock concerts that dresses like she is a tramp and actually gives groupies a good name. She is the girl that will flash her boobs when confronted by peer pressure at a concert. She has black makeup on that you know isn’t going to last long backstage. You seen this girl and if you have talked to her, her name is always LISA. Always.
Screw it, bring back the Ants go Marching on and on. Hopefully they can march up some morals. There will be no more devil signs in this house young lady. Now go to bed and think about what you have done today.
Scratch off my broken skin, tear into my heart and make me do it again. O White Zombie, your wisdom knows no bounds.