The other day I had the car radio dial set to NPR. I was listening to the story of the first black quarterback in the NFL. My mom turned to me and asked, “What is this?”
It was obvious she didn’t care for my listening selection. “It’s public radio, Ma.” I said this in my most grown-up-do-your-homework-turn-that-TV-down-and-eat-your-vegetables voice.
Since I wasn't too invested in the program, I started to scan other stations. After all, it was her birthday. “Oh, I like this song!” my mom said. And for the next three minutes, she bopped her head and slapped her thigh to OutKast’s ‘Hey Ya!'
Have the roles of mother and son been reversed? Is my mom cooler than me?
I like public radio. She likes Andre 3000. I have a beat-up Samsung flip phone. She has a sleek touch screen device. She goes out with “the girls.” I go out “to work.” I think it’s only a matter of time before I stumble across her reality TV gossip blog. Just this morning she sent out a mass text of her predictions for this season's ABDC. Looks like I’ll be joining the “what your kid is really up to” parenting group on Facebook sooner than I thought.
That's okay. Next year, for her present, I'll be making a donation to NPR in her name.