This is the refrain so often sung by my son upon entering my parents' house. He runs jiggle-cheeked into the house, practically begging to go into the basement with a willing adult to turn on the jukebox and play some records. If my dad is there, he usually obliges at one point or another, and it has become another one of their things.
Who knew something that looks like this could be so appealing to a two year-old?
Who knew something that looks like this could be so appealing to a two year-old?
While the music plays, he plays with other toys in the basement, the dart board, the pool table ... whatever strikes his fancy.
But, as each song winds down he runs to the jukebox and anticipates the arm moving, the wheels turning, the next record being selected.
He waits and watches.
Grandpa E pushes the buttons ... 123 is a common choice. Billy Joel's "Innocent Man" gets played at least once a visit.
The fascination never goes away.
And much to my dad's chagrin, Baylor often pulls the records out himself. This time he let my dad help.
Oh, and when asked what he wants for Christmas, he typically replies, "Christmas records." I swear, the kiddo is an old soul or a DJ in the making.
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