(Guantanamera)

Katie heard a song on the radio and started singing a line of it, over & over, as kids will do. I overheard her, and began to correct her interpretation of the lyrics. It’s not Give me the beat boys, it’s Give me the Beach Boys, to free my soul. I don’t care, she said, I think I will keep singing it my way.

I thought to myself, well, she takes after me. She hears what she hears and makes it fit.

Later, when I heard the remake, I realized: She’s not one of those people, but I am. My version wasn’t too off the wall, though. Pop groups did sing about other pop groups; they named names. Remember, No one’s getting fat except Mama Cass?

A couple months ago, Tom played a Zeppelin song for me that he’d been practicing for his Sunday afternoon band sessions, and I discovered (20 years late) that it was called “Custard Pie” rather than “Testify,” and was not about religion. I never did like Zeppelin much, I said in my defense.

There is another thing that is worse. I can only hear the parody version of song lyrics, too, if they’re a good fit. Remember “Eat it”? Or “It’s a Big Snake” (by Men at Work)?

The truth is, if I rarely sing aloud it’s not because I can’t carry a tune. I probably just don’t know the lyrics.