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It was 1990, and I was trying to persuade my mom that I loved rap music for its rhythm, not its risqué lyrics. But when she caught wind of Vanilla Ice rapping about an 8-ball, she dismissed it with a firm “Not today, Mr. Ice,” and tossed my treasured cassette of To the Extreme right into the trash.
At the age of ten, I had no clue what an 8-ball was; I thought it referred to that mystical toy you shake while asking, “Will I ever meet Luke Perry?” only to be frustrated when the answer didn’t satisfy my curiosity. Little did my mother know that by taking away Vanilla Ice, she might have ignited my desire to discover the most explicit lyrics I could find. It’s interesting how attempts to control things in parenthood can backfire spectacularly.
Three years later, I was blasting Dr. Dre’s Chronic album, which made Vanilla Ice sound like an angelic choir boy, complete with a cover featuring a giant pot leaf. I can only imagine my poor parents wondering, “What on earth is our daughter listening to?” But I was smart enough not to use those words at school. I was aware that the lyrics were inappropriate for my age.
It took me three decades to truly comprehend my mom’s worries. As my oldest child learned to read, she spotted the word “[Explicit]” on the radio and exclaimed, “This one’s explosive,” prompting me to skip it. While I found this adorable, she was onto something; those curse words felt like explosives. I was unknowingly erasing my child’s innocence. Yet, they didn’t grasp why those words were deemed bad, so it all went over their heads. How harmful could it really be?
As my children matured, I stopped trying to mute the expletives in songs. Instead, I would sing “shhhhh” over Gwen Stefani’s “This shit is bananas!” But my kids wouldn’t stand for it, insisting I was ruining the song. Their sighs of frustration made me realize they were ready for more mature content, even as I clung to the notion that they were still my little ones. One moment, we were stuck on the Frozen 2 soundtrack for the umpteenth time, and the next, they were jamming out to Snoop D.O. Double G.
So, what kind of mom lets her kids listen to explicit lyrics? The kind that prepares herself for larger freedoms by introducing smaller ones. I’ve learned that trying to shield them from everything only intensifies their curiosity, whether it’s about music, films, or the internet. One key life lesson I’ve picked up from Ice Cube is learning to “check yo self before you wreck yo self,” and I’m passing that wisdom down to my kids. I’m living proof that hearing the occasional F-bomb won’t traumatize them.
Reflecting on my experiences, I understand my mom’s concerns about inappropriate lyrics leading me astray. However, I turned out just fine and know when to use my salty language and when to be a respectable adult. I’d credit 2Pac and Biggie for that education. I hope one day my kids realize that my strict control over our music choices wasn’t about hiding anything; it was about ensuring they were ready for the next stage in their lives. And if they’re going to listen to explicit music, who better to guide them than their O.G. Mama?
Jade Thompson is the humorist behind One Funny Mama, where she explores the ups and downs of motherhood. Residing on the Central Coast of California with her husband and two young daughters, Jade authored What It Means To Be a Mom in 2021 and is currently compiling a collection of essays about her first year of motherhood. Follow her at onefunnymama.com and on social media @onefunnymama.
This article was originally published on April 11, 2022.
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