TEN SECONDS — TOPS

Dear Spike:

I sang to you. I rocked you. I walked you around the house. I offered you a bottle. I checked your diaper.

I even offered to buy you a mocking bird, a diamond ring and then, since I don’t know the rest of the words to the song, I ad lib'd...

“Daddy’s gonna buy you some turpentine...”
“Daddy’s gonna buy you a hog-nosed skunk...”
“Daddy’s gonna buy you a taco cart...”
“Daddy’s gonna buy you a ramapithicus....”
“Daddy’s gonna blow his head off...”

Nothing worked. The 9 o’clock freak out stretched to 10. Then to 10:30. My ears were ringing. My head hurt.

Then I remembered that I’d seen an Earl Skruggs CD in the player in the kitchen. Could Skruggs (the author of the Beverly Hillbillies theme song, among other works of bluegrass banjo brilliance) calm you down?

I pressed play.

One note. Then two. Then a flurry of sixteenths. I could hear Skrugg’s fingers flying over the banjo strings.

And just like that, you were out. Ten seconds — tops.

I don’t really understand your hypnotic connection to banjo music. And I don’t want to.

All I want to do right now is find Earl Skruggs and kiss him full on his salty old country lips.

Love,
dad