A Darndest Thing

I started writing about wealth and “the rich” and the like. Those thoughts are still baking. Instead of posting on that, a cute story comes to mind.

My oldest daughter has been known to say some things with the “wisdom of a child” that have bordered on the profound. Usually though, it just makes for awkward moments…

It is not unusual to hear music being played around our neighborhood. Many households here have pools and with those pools have parties and with those parties have music. The top-forty is standard fare for the younger parties and seventies and eighties rock/pop for the older parties.

Additionally, there is still a lot of house construction. Most of that construction is by Hispanic men who tune to radio stations that play lively, upbeat songs about drug smugglers or slow ballads about being shot whilst fighting over a woman. (I was actually raised around neighborhoods being built and now know many of these tunes by heart.)

And so it came to pass about six years ago, we heard not rock or pop or Mexican drug smuggling music but poorly produced, slow, and sleazy music emanating from somewhere in the neighborhood.

I said, “That sounds like S-O-F-T-P-O-R-N music.”

My (not able to spell very well) daughter asked, “How do you know?”