Little Strummer is at the age where he repeats everything, and I mean everything. His favorite cuter than cute thing to do now is run around the house, playground, and preschool singing “Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, Can’t You See?” He picked it up during the TV promos for the DVD release of Notorious, heard it on the radio in the car, and now wants to hear it every time we are in the car. Since I don’t own a a censored version of anything this has become problematic. My solution has been to play the chorus for him and turn the verses all the way down. It worked well at first, we got to chat about the difference between choruses and verses and or make up our own lyrics while waiting for that catchy hook to come back. Now every time the music becomes inaudible he shouts “Rock, Rock , Rock!” Which is sort of my fault, as it’s what I shout at my hubby when he foolishly dials “my” radio to NPR. But lately I’ve found myself at a loss. He loves music so much and has, for a two year old anyway, become quite the little aficionado His ooohing along to Band of Horses, who BTW were his very first post utero rock show ) the Funeral would melt even the hardest heart into a sticky pink pile of bubble gum scented goo. But Great Elvis in the Sky!; if he were to repeat anything from that song other than the verse about “pink gators for my Detroit players and Tim’s for my hooligan’s in Brooklyn”(which would be fucking adorable) I would die of parental mortification. That just because I’m a parent I should automatically Especially since I’ve tried so hard to cure my own potty mouth over the last two years. After year’s of hanging with rock dudes and the assorted ilk, I almost became prideful of my ability to weave a deliciously profane tapestry. But now I’m trying to be a good example and all F-bombs in Strum’s company anyway,have been replaced with the term “fudge’ems” and the grand daddy of all curses has become “monkey funking”. where the only thing that can assult his fragile young psychy is other people’s horrific taste.