Davis is a performer. He loves to dance and sing and carry his drumstick around the house tapping different items to hear the different sounds.

He also loves the song Old MacDonald Had a Farm. That’s all he wants to listen to. The minute he is strapped in his carseat, he starts whining, “E-I-E-I-Ooooo.” He means for you to either sing it or put in his CD of children’s songs. He doesn’t care about any of the other songs on the CD though. When Old MacDonald comes to an end, the whining starts again – “E-I-Ooooooo.” Over and over we hear this until we go to song one and listen to it again.

A couple of weeks ago, I drove to Sunset Beach to stay with Obea and Marian and the whole way there, Davis expected me to sing Old MacDonald. I sang through every animal I could think of starting with letter A, an alligator, and ending with Z, a zebra. Zebras go clippety clop, clippety clop.

I remember when I was in middle school, riding with my parents in the car, listening to Southern Gospel tunes. I hated it. I protested. I begged to listen to something else, anything else. Davis is starting early with his protests. Maybe by the time he reaches middle school, we’ll appreciate the same genre of music.

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