It's a Slippery Slope

When my brother announced that he was moving to Nashville, I am sure my nose wrinkled in disgust. All I knew was that Nashville and country music were inseparable, and I did not like country music. I was an opinionated teenager who liked alternative music. I did not realize at the time that you could live in Nashville and keep a life separate from country music, but you can, and I did.

A few years after my brother's move to the Music City, I discovered the banjo. Grant Lee Buffalo was an alternative band, and a song called "The Last Days of Tecumseh" featured the odd and beautiful sound of the banjo. I was hooked. It might be possible to live in Nashville and keep a life separate from country music, but I don't think it is possible to live in Nashville, love the banjo, and keep from falling for bluegrass. And so I opened my heart wider to receive the wonder of bluegrass, and told myself that at least this wasn't country.

Perhaps you can see where this is going. The banjo and a love for music were gateway drugs, and they led me to try things I never thought I would.

One problem was that the CD player in the van broke just a month after moving to the farm. Another problem is that as you travel south of Nashville toward our place, the alternative station acquires static just as you get to our exit off the interstate. It is like a weird sign that says, "You are leaving civilization as you know it and entering the country." The country. There is only so much NPR the kids can take, and Finley started requesting "country music, please" in the van. I had inadvertently exposed Finley to country music one day and she liked it, and as I did not want to expose them to the angst and vulgarity of hard rock, I acquiesced. And so I began to discover that it is not so easy to live in the country and keep a life separate from country music. They are inseparable.

And so I have become someone I do not recognize. A mom who plays the kids' current favorite song in the mornings to cheer them up and is trying not to cry when Rascal Flatts' "My Wish" comes on the radio. And when we pile in the van, and Chris turns the key, only to hear country music blaring from the speakers, all I can do is shrug. We live in the country, after all.


a note in my defense: Joe's kindergarten teacher sent them home with a DVD at the end of the year - a slide show of pictures of the kids with "My Wish" playing in the background. Just try to watch it and not tear up. I dare you.