One of the great things about being three-and-a-half is that everything is new. You’re like that new goldfish in the aquarium who’s never seen the castle and diver before. The other day I came home from work and CJ ran over to me, excited, asking, “Daddy? Do you know the story of the three little pigs?” I said no, so she’d tell it to me. Her version was familiar except that one of the houses was made of rocks. She asked me to be the big bad wolf, and I played the role so well that she asked me to stop.
That night she asked me to play a new song for her, and I played “Johnny B. Goode.” Which isn’t new at all, of course, but we’re talking about an audience that’s just learned about the three little pigs. I played “Johny B. Goode” my way, which is to say I played it on the banjo, slowly, with lots of mistakes. When I was done, CJ looked at me, enraptured, and said, “Daddy, where did you learn that song?”
