HOPE FOR THE NEXT GENERATION

I recently visited family in Wisconsin, where I saw my little cousin Ashley. Being excited to get attention, as kids often are, she asked me if I wanted to play dolls or ride bikes. She was happy to drag me all over the house, showing me things I could watch her play with. Then, in her six-year-old, innocent way, she asked me all about me. Did I like this color or that one? How old am I? Why do I have a beard? Can I drive a car? What music do I like? She asked if I liked Ozzy! A six-year-old girl! It seems her dad is a big fan. It also turns out her father's a big fan of Kid Rock, too.
"Kid Rock," I said to her in all seriousness, "is a bum!"
"Nu-uh," she said.
"Yeah-huh. He's a bum. He doesn't even write his own songs!"
That wasn't quite fair of me, because I don't know if the bum writes his own songs or not. But I knew she'd take my word for it because I'm bigger than her. I had to fib a little, because no sweet cousin of mine can be going around, throwing her arms up like a two-bit thug, singing the lyrics to some corporate, white trash, no-talent hack of a musician.
Over the course of the weekend, Ashley and I continued to argue the point.
"He's a bum!"
"Nu-uh!"
"Yeah-huh!"
"Nu-uh!"
"Yeah-huh!"
Right before I left, she looked at me with the admiration any six-year-old girl would have for a grown-up who'd actually played dolls with her, and said, "Kid Rock’s a bum."
I smiled with pride and thought, “Damn. That’s a smart little girl.”
She also likes Eminem, but that's another story.