I Bless the Rains Down in Alcatraz

The girls are terrible at hearing song lyrics. Lindsay, in particular, is a stone-cold song slayer. When they were younger, I was driving the girls to a soccer or dance practice, and Ellie Goulding’s song “Lights” came on the radio. The girls knew the song and began singing along with all their typical gusto. When the bridge came, the girls belted it out. Well, after a fashion, anyway. Because the word they were repeating was not “lights” . . . it was “box.”

“Are you saying, ‘box’?” I said.

“Yes!” Lucia said.

“She’s saying, ‘lights,'” I said.

“She’s not! She’s saying, ‘box,'” Lu said.

“It’s obviously ‘box,'” Lindsay said.

And they resumed singing.

“It’s not,” I said. “The song is literally titled ‘Lights.’ She would not be singing ‘box’ a hundred times for a song called ‘Lights.'”

“The song is not called ‘Lights,'” said Lu.

“It’s ‘Box,'” said Lindsay.

This debate went round and round for years, and it didn’t change one bit when I found the song and the lyrics online and showed it to them.

A few years after that, we were at a New England Revolution soccer match. It was halftime, and after the typical halftime festivities, the booth always plays a number of songs just before the players retake the field. One of those songs was “Africa” by Toto. Lindsay started humming along, and when the chorus first came up, she belted it out, as follows:

It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in AL-CA-TRAZ!

“What did you say?” I said.

“What?” said Lindsay.

“What did you say just now? In the song?”

“I bless the rains down in Alcatraz. Why? Is that wrong?”

“You know that Alcatraz was a maximum security prison, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would anyone bless rains there?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I didn’t write the lyrics.”

“You didn’t sing them either.”

Last night, we went to The Enchanted Village at Jordan’s Furniture. This is an old style animatronics display that the furniture company purchased and brought out of mothballs. Lauren’s mother used to go into Boston to see it when she was young. We typically go, take some pictures, buy some hot chocolate or cider, and grab a box of Jordan Marsh blueberry muffins. Kind of a New England thing. As we were riding back home listening to Christmas music, “We Need a Little Christmas” came on. Lindsay jumped right in.

“Haul out the holly! Put up the tree before my spirit CALLS again!”

The whole car broke up laughing.

“Before my spirit ‘calls’ again, Lindsay?” said Lucia. “Seriously?”

“What?” said Lindsay.

“It’s ‘falls again,'” I said.

“Whatever. What’s the difference?”

“Well, the song is about raising people’s spirits with Christmas lights and decorations. It’s not about your spirit separating from your body and calling home after.”

“You know what, guys . . .” Lindsay said.

“You’re totally the worst at lyrics,” said Lu.

I broke out my valley girl voice. “‘So listen, Ashley, I was at the Lululemon shop and . . . hang on, babe, a second . . . yeah, it’s my spirit calling. Can I call you right back?'”

“Does Carson know you can’t hear lyrics?” Lu said.

“He doesn’t need to,” said Lindsay.

“I think I will tell him as I send him this picture of you with uneven socks,” Lu said.

“What’s wrong with uneven socks?” I said.

“Carson has issues with that,” said Lauren.

“Issues?” I said.

Lindsay sighed. “It’s true. He does. It gives him like a sensory meltdown. If he sees his little brother Griff with uneven socks, he flips out. Thinks it’s idiotic.”

“And one of the pictures we took at Jordan’s is wicked bad,” said Lu. “Lindsay’s socks are so uneven that Carson might leave her.”

“He really might,” said Lindsay.

“Okay, sent,” said Lu.

“You’re seriously the worst sister ever,” said Lindsay.

“Is that you talking or your spirit?”