Confronting our own musical mortality

When I was younger, Grandma Linda and Grandpa Mike weaned me on the music of the Beatles. From an early age, I knew a few things: (1) there would be no new Beatles music and (2) their music was old. Before I was born old. As the years passed, Uncle Jay and I shared many derisive names for our parents' musical choices (old, boring, crappy, to name but a few).

In the presence of Eli, I've thought quite a lot about this. Can it possibly be true that music from the 80s and 90s will be as irrelevant and 'old' to Eli is the music of the 50s and 60s seemed to me? Perhaps even more importantly, will I be able to accept the music that Eli eventually likes with equanimity? Or will I silently curse 'all that new-fangled garbage'? 

In the interim, all we can do is control the house plalyist until Eli grows old enough to have an opinion on the matter. I believe that is why Shelby has chosen to listen to the Indigo Girls, Hootie and Blowfish, and other 90s bands as we've gone to sleep each of the last few nights. The strangest part is that until Eli arrived, many of these same CDs sat gathering dust on our shelves. It is only their status as future relics that motivated us to savor them while we can.