So, I move a little closer down the hallway, still folding my clothes, you know, so that I'm not actually eavesdropping or anything, I'm just close enough to accidentally overhear. [Yeah, don't judge me. I have twins. They'll take over the world if I'm not careful.]
And then I hear him trying to pull off this kind of gruff Joe-Cockerish voice, as he sings, "Gimme the beat boys and free my soul..."
And then she jumps in, and they're singing a duet, and I can only imagine that they're both standing in front of the mirror in their jammies, holding hairbrushes up to their mouths as they belt out, "I wanna get lost in the rock 'n' roll, and drift away..."
And then she says to him, "I really love that song," in a sorta wispy sounding voice that really should've been both preceded and followed by, "man."
And then they decide, evidently, to put it on a loop because, you know, they're 6, and when you're 6, every little thing is just the coolest thing in the world, and in this particular moment, man, the chorus is all that matters. And it so obviously means waaaayyyy more to them than I could ever possibly imagine because as they sing the refrain over and over again, they begin to get louder and louder, pushing it out from their gut, feeling it from somewhere, and -- a little eerily -- in all the right places.
And I'm cursing the fact that my FLIP is downstairs in my bag right about the time that they come out and see me spying...er...folding clothes.
"Hey guys," I say as casually as you can when you've been busted by your children. "So, where'd y'all hear that song?"
"It's from Mr. S, our P.E. teacher. He's teaching us how to keep the beat with it," she says.
"Do you know it, Mom?" he asks.
"Yeah, babe," I say. "It's an old song. It's been around for a long time. Since your Mema was young."
"Woooooooooooooowwwww!!!!" they say in unison. "We didn't know it was THAT old!"
...
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