Rock of ages (From The Northern Echo)

Rock of ages

11:59am Thursday 19th May 2011 in Dad At Large By Peter Barron

WHEN I was a teenager, my dad hated the music I liked. That was the natural order of things.

When David Bowie or T.Rex came on Top of the Pops, a look of disgust would spread across his face and he’d say: “That’s not music – it’s just a noise.”

Life has turned full circle, and now it’s my turn to have to listen to the noise played by the two teenage sons left at home.

They’re desperate to have their music on whenever we’re in the car, pleading as if they’ll die unless I give in: “Please dad – it’s a new CD.

Please. Please.”

Normally, I refuse and make them listen to my music, which really annoys them. I bombard them with Roxy Music, Genesis and Dire Straits, insisting that they’ll like it.

“You’re so boring,” they say, which at least makes a change from me being called an embarrassment.

But when we went on a recent family outing to the Lake District, which meant us being in the car for the best part of two hours, my wife told me I had to be fair. I couldn’t just play my music – I had to let them play their music.

So, to his great delight, Jack, 17, was allowed to put on his new CD and told me to turn it up a bit louder.

To my complete surprise, I found that I didn’t really mind it and asked who it was.

“Biffy Clyro,” he mumbled. “You won’t like them, dad – they’re not mainstream.”

But the more I heard, the more I quite liked it.

A few days later, we were in the car again and Jack asked if he could put his music on to avoid having to listen to Phil Collins.

He was clearly taken aback when I agreed and he put on the same CD.

“Who’s this again?” I asked.

“Biffy Clyro,” he replied. “You won’t like them, but they’re really good.”

The songs were a bit more familiar and I started singing along to the odd chorus.

“I quite like this,” I said.

“No, you don’t, dad,” Jack insisted.

“Anyway, most of their other stuff is too obscure for you.”

Last week, I was in the car on my own and I discovered that Jack had left his music in the CD player. I played it – and I liked it.

Jack met me at the door when I got home from work that night and asked if he’d left his CD in my car.

“Yes, I’ve been playing it up and down the A1,” I told him. “I really like Biffy Clyro.”

He let out an agonised groan, as if he’d taken a heavy blow to the nether regions, and said: “No you don’t, dad.

You don’t like it.”

“But I do,” I said, thinking he’d be pleased.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sighed as he brushed past me, on his way to retrieve his music from the car, looking as if he wanted to throw up.

Jack’s never asked again if he can play his music in my car for fear that his embarrassing, boring dad might actually like it.

So my message to all dads out there is this: If you want to stop your teenagers asking if they can play their music in the car, let them have their way.

You might just find that you like it. Even if you don’t, pretend that you do, and they’ll be so utterly appalled that they’ll never ask again.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

MAVIS Hammond, booking secretary at Langley Park Women’s Institute, remembered the time daughter Barbara was three and had been taken to church.

After six hymns and a particularly long sermon, she was heard to ask: “Daddy, is it still Sunday?”

ANOTHER member of Langley Park WI, who asked to remain anonymous, told of the time her son found his eyes drawn to a heavily tattooed man.

“I bet his mam took his felt-tips off him,” whispered the little boy.