Our six-year old had a birthday party to go to the other day, so I took our five-year old out for lunch as a consolation prize. As we sat in the restaurant eating, Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” started playing on the radio.

I, of course, started singing along.

“No Daddy!” he said. “Stop singing! No Singing!”

“Don’t be silly. Of course we can sing. Don’t Worry, Be Happy Now – DOOO doo doo doo-”

“No! No Singing!”

“Yes singing.”

“No”

“Yes”

We were at an impasse. In the background, Bobby continued singing about how we shouldn’t worry.

“Okay,” I said. “As long as you’re eating, I won’t sing.” We’ve been having troubles getting him to eat lately, so I figured this was a safe bet.

He stuffed a forkfull of macaroni and cheese into his mouth.

“Hmph,” I said.

He flashed me a cheesy grin, little bits of macaroni sticking out of his teeth. I sipped my root beer while he chewed. Fortunately, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” is a fairly long song. The little guy swallowed and then burst out giggling.

“But when you worry, you make it double” I sang along with Bobby.

The little guy’s eyes widened, he grabbed more macaroni and cheese and put it in his mouth.

He ate non-stop through the rest of the song.

Now I have a question for all my gentle readers. Is this a victory of clever parenting or a crushing blow to my singing career?