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Apr 18, 2004 Driving home from Monsignor Fiore’s church this past Easter Sunday, our grandchildren were making such a racket that my wife has to crane her neck to turn to them in the back seat. She orders Sirena, 10, and Johnny, 9, to calm down and stop roughhousing and slapping each other as it’s distracting "nonno," the Italian word for grandfather. That’s me. At your service. “Then put on some music we like,” Sirena snaps back. “Okay,” I oblige meekly. “How about this?” I press the forward button and advance to the next AM station. It’s good ole country music. “Yuck! Change it,” she demands, fending off another attack from her restless cousin. Instantly obeying, I skip to the next station. A male voice sings in Spanish. “Change it!” “Si Signor.” Next comes a bouncy Jazz saxophone. “Change it!” Then screechy hard rock. “Change it.” “And in other news, Iraqi insurgents attacked a convoy near Baghdad . . .” “Change it! ” Ahhhhh, there’s a beautiful Puccini aria from La Boheme. . . “CHANGE IT QUICK!!!!!!” A rapper rhymes over a pulsating beat “Change it.” “Look, you kids don’t know what you want. I’m going to listen to the news.” “No,” bellows Johnny. “We’ll make noise,” he threatens. “Oh yea?” It was time to pull out the ultimate weapon and teach them a lesson! “If you kids don’t shut up, I’ll play Frank Sinatra!” “No, no, no. Not that! We’ll be good,” Sirena promises. “Not me,” says Johnny. “I’ll make noise so loud . . .” “That does it. See how you like this, Johnny!” I put on the Sinatra CD and turn it up loud. "Strangers in the night . . . “No. Not that. Noooooooo!” "what were the chances . . . “Yeeeeeoooall!” "We’d be making love . . . “Stop, you’re killing us!” "before the night was through . . . “You kids surrender?” “No!” Strangers in the night . . . “Yes, yes, yes,” they both cried. “All right.” I stop the CD torture and now the rest of the drive is so quiet you could almost hear . . . “the drip, drip, drip from the rain drops when the jungle showers fade . . . ." That was the next song in the chamber if they acted up again. I had ole blue eyes’ rendition of the Cole Porter classic, “Night and Day,” armed and ready to go! I looked at them in the rear-view mirror. They were still and white as sheep. My lips curled into a tight smile as I thought: “Go ahead. Make my night and day.” ------------ About the author: Thomas J. Madden is chairman of TransMedia Group public relations www.transmediagroup.com and the author of SPIN MAN and KING OF THE CONDO. Email: transmedia@att.net Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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