The boys and I do a lot of singing. It’s not necessarily good singing, mind you, but it’s singing. If one of us happens to hear a song, there’s a good bet we’ll be humming it later on in the day.

As I came down from work the other evening, I found my oldest dancing  in the living room as he built a train track.

Naturally, I went into ninja-stealth mode so I could watch.

“Taco bout it, Taco bout it” he sang as he picked up a few pieces of  track and danced over to build a bridge. He stopped part way there to do a pretty cool hip-twisting disco move.

“Taco bout it, Taco bout it, Taco bout it.”

I couldn’t help chuckling, which completely broke my ninja mode.

“Oh,” he said. “Hi dad.”

“Hey,” I said. “Cool train.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Is it almost dinner time?”

“Probably.” I crossed my arms. “Why? You hungry for tacos?”


What I can’t figure out is where in the world he heard Funky town in the first place.

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