Posts Tagged ‘Boom Box’


Thursday, February 12th, 2009

Last night after his shower he asked if we could go to the junkyard. “Why?” I said. “So we can see the kitchen boom box.” (He’s had four boom boxes so far. I threw away the one in the kitchen. It didn’t work.) “Did you throw away the kitchen boom box?” “Uh-huh.” “We can see it at the junkyard. We can go see all the stuff we throwed away.”

My wife came home from her support group. She told me when they’re teenagers M&M’s don’t cut it. “They don’t?” “Neither do cookies,” the bribes we give our son. She said that when they’re teenagers sometimes they still need their baby blankets. Solution? Cut off a piece of the blanket and stick it in their wallets.

It’s as much about keeping as it is about throwing out.

Podcast Six

Sunday, February 1st, 2009

Regional Center, Part II; To My Son, Part I

Old Boom Boxes Never Die; They Just Fade Away

Thursday, January 22nd, 2009

My son has gone through three boom boxes so far.  He draws boom boxes (thousands of them), on butcher paper with markers, outside on the driveway with chalk.  He decorates them.  He carries them around the house, pushing over piles of whatever to make room for them.  He drops boom boxes.  He dings them, bends their antennas. He begs me to buy him a new boom box, cries when I tell him that he’ll have to wait until his birthday in August.  A couple of days ago, he asks to look at boom boxes on the internet.  We find his dream boom box, a super compact version “with speakers on the side.”  It is a blue boom box with a blue remote.  Because it has speakers on the side “you can hear it all around.”  You can put it on the corner of the dinner table, “a perfect place.”  ”I want to get it now,” he tells me after preschool yesterday.  ”You have to wait until your birthday.”  ”I WANT IT NOW.” And the lower lip squares, the tears flow.  ”Why don’t we just clean up the boom box you have?”  After much convincing he accepts this alternative.  We use up a box of wipes taking off the marker and crayon.  We polish it up with a half-bottle of organic glass spray.  After a while, he forgets about it and we start to play with his anime figures, a skunk and raccoon.  They go to pre-school, cry when their mothers leave them, have rug time, play.  When they have music time, out comes the old boom box.  My son lugs it out, holding the handle with both hands, arms bent at the elbows.  I’m afraid he’ll trip over the power cord, but he doesn’t and places the boom box on a taboret.  We a play a game where I, the teacher, play an imaginary bass, but keep hearing the boom box through my earphones. Listening to the boom box, I notice a crackling blanket of distortion. The music is hard to hear underneath it.  I have never noticed this before, and ask my son when it started.  ”Has it always sounded like that?”  He shrugs, seeming not  to care that  his boom box sounds so terrible.  But I do care.  I keep asking him about it until he looks up at me with a calm little smile.  ”That’s why I wanted a new one.”  I could leave it at that, but probably won’t.  Maybe I’m the one who needs the new boom box. “How can you listen to music like that?”

Home Sick

Tuesday, January 20th, 2009