One night, I woke up at 4 am, as one often does in their third trimester. After using the restroom for the umpteenth time that night, I realized that I was ruining my children. I had not been playing enough music for them. “Ruin”, you may ask? Yes, it sounds dramatic, but to me it felt as dramatic as if I only served my child peanut butter on white bread every day for every meal, and maybe threw in a green smoothie once in a while just as an insurance policy. No, this was a big deal, a national emergency, code red. I needed to up my game.
I grew up with constant music in the house. In every family video, somewhere, there was music playing. For family vacations my father would always make some sort of musical ‘soundtrack’ for the vacation and play it over and over on our vacation so that when we would hear that particular song, group, or score, we would think of that trip. The Beatles Revolver and Abby Road padded our drives around England’s countryside. Copeland’s Billy the Kid riddled the drive through Wyoming, Montana, and South 
Dakota. Johnny Cash singing Ring of Fire brings up memories of riding in the back of my dad’s VW van with my sister on some camping adventures. And Otis, Sam and Dave, Van Morrison instantly bring me back to Beale Street, Gibson Guitar Factory, and Stax records. This wasn’t our only exposure. Opera, Jazz, symphonies, instrumental, Greek, Mariachi, Fold, Blue Grass, Gospel, you name it we heard it. And recordings were not our only exposure. We were taken to countless Jazz clubs, Operas, musicals, the symphony. My dad played saxophone and clarinet while my sister and I learned piano. It was as if we grew up eating cuisine from all over the world (which in reality we were also doing thanks to my mother’s cooking) and our taste buds had blossomed.
What a disservices I had done to my children! Now, don’t get me wrong. I started out strong. I was playing Beethoven on repeat with my first-born when she was in the womb. I added in Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, and my husband added some Metallica and Country to the mix. We had theme nights 
where we would play different types of music to go with what we were eating: Puccini Operas on pasta night, Some Rodrigo y Gabriel, mariachi, or samba with tacos or arroz con pollo. My daughter even asked why Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong sang together and if they were friends and if their friendship continued into heaven. She has had some good exposure. But, somewhere after the birth of my second the music has slowed down. Maybe it’s like with some families how when life gets busy all they eat is McDonalds or pizza. We listened to the radio in the car and I went through an Otis Redding phase during my second trimester with my third daughter. But the variety and the daily exposure had begun to fade.
I don’t want my kids growing up not hearing Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, or Stan Getz. I want them to know how most modern rock originated from the Yardbirds’ guitarists: Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, and Eric Clapton. I want them to appreciate the flair of tribal drums, Brazilian guitar, and Greek bouzouki. Just as I have 
strived to develop their taste buds for food, I feel compelled, as a parent to expose my daughters’ ears to a broad range of music. The phrase I often say to my girls when trying a new dish is, “ You don’t have to like it, but you do need to try it”. Music is like food, you don’t have to like it all, but you do have to try and hear it. And like our taste buds, if we are exposed to something enough, we may learn to actually like it as we mature. But the initial neuropathways need to be laid out.
There is so much music, and yes, my children are young. But, I only have so much time before peers begin to influence their music choices and my influence begins to fade 
(I’m looking at you, early 2000’s cd collection). As it has been said, “Variety is the spice of life” so if I slowly get back to switching out their peanut butter on white bread for something different, say Billy Holiday for Ella, Chet Baker for Frank Sinatra, or Debussy for Beethoven. They don’t have to like it, but they need to try it, and in time they may learn to love it.
by Angela Johnson