When you were little (roughly three years old) you liked to play with the knobs on my stereo. It wasn't much of a problem until you hit the power switch with the volume cranked to ten, at which time you would scream like a Banshee until either your mother or myself turned it down and comforted your scared little body.
One afternoon, after I'd worked and picked you up from daycare, we were waiting for your Mom to get home. I was in the bedroom making the bed, and you, as often was your want, were playing with the buttons on my stereo in the living room. All of a sudden I heard, loudly, the intro to The Hold Steady's "Banging Camp" (which your sister had been so kind to send me as part of a mix CD of the best songs of that year) blaring from our living room. I dropped everything I was doing, raced to get you, but when I turned the corner, there you stood, your little arms stretched as high as you could get them, your little hands clenched into fists, and you screamed, "DANCE DADA!" as loud as your little voice could muster. You then proceeded to shimmy and shake until the song was over.
We listened to it eight more times before your Mom got home.
The End
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