I’m led to believe that she thoroughly enjoyed herself, as evidenced by this text message exchange we had prior to meeting at Boise’s “Alive After Five” weekly musical extravaganza last evening:
Live Acorn: “Father, will you be attending tonight’s “Alive After Five” musical extravaganza? I do so look forward to seeing you.(I love modern technology and how it affords us the ability to communicate meaningfully disirregardless of our differences in expressive style.)
Dead Acorn: “o hllz ya 4 shr. Blugrass band. C U l8r!”
Live Acorn: “O Father! I truly am excited, for bluegrass music has literally changed my life!”Actually, she’s always had very good taste in music, even though she’s had her short spells of listening to horrific Top 40 (it never lasts long, thank jeebus). After her profession of love for the bluegrass genre, I posted something along these lines on teh Facebook:
Dead Acorn: “Do u have any clu wat “literally” means? Dnt thnk so.”
Live Acorn: “Of course I do, Father. I refer to an incident in which I was struck in the head by an errant banjo at the Sawtooth Music Festival, which rendered me left-handed and speaking with a Sudanese accent!”
Dead Acorn: “Mad propz 2 the Boise skool sys.”
My daughter came out and told me that she loves bluegrass music today. I told her that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that she was born that way, and that even though haters gonna hate, the only thing this changes is the radio station.It’s really too bad that Earl Scruggs didn’t live to see full acceptance of the gut-bucket as an instrument equal to others, but someday, Live Acorn … someday.
As it turns out, she’s learning life’s hard lessons about discrimination in more ways than one. She had recently applied for employment at a downtown ice-cream parlor, only to be told that the purple streaks in her hair are at odds with the image the parlor is trying maintain. I’ve only been into the establishment a time or two, but it’s apparently a Barbie-Doll-Stepford-Wives-Chik-Fil-A-Only-With-Hair-Dye-Instead-Of-Gay-Marriage kind of place fostering purplephobia, and even if they had a liquor license and gave away free Ouzo, I wouldn’t set a foot ‘cross their threshold. (Sure, I might have someone sneak me out some, but you know what I mean.)
On a positive note, she did land a job at a ceramics/art place, which has far more social value than a bunch of look-a-like bimbettes-in-training schlepping overpriced “artisan” ice cream to the overstuffed Americans gorging …
Ok, you know what? This may have more to do with me projecting my own experience at being forced to take out my 4th earring back in my days as a line cook. I should address the inner demons of my past openly and honestly.
On the other hand, what else are kids for?