MODERN DAD | By Jon Show

March 7. When I was 12 years old, my mom opened my bedroom door while I was doing homework and listening to Eazy-Duz-It, the 1988 album by rapper Eazy-E, who was—and remains—my favorite rapper.

As she opened the door, Eazy laid down a lyric on Nobody Move that is so unprintable I have a hard time believing cancel culture hasn’t burned every trace of the song’s existence.

“I can’t believe this is the kind of music you listen to,” she scoffed and slammed the door. I finished my homework while listening to the rest of the album.

There comes a point in childhood when you become acutely aware of the generational divide between your music and your parents’ music.

Later in life, there comes another point when you come to terms with the fact that this new music is not your music—and that’s fine.

Nowhere was this generational divide more evident than at my house during the Super Bowl halftime show.

Imma break it down

When it comes to today’s pop music, my mom knows just enough to hold a weak conversation, but she’s a big halftime show fan. She’ll tell you her favorite was Bruno Mars, and I’d say she has a passing awareness each year of the acts.

My dad may as well have emerged from living on an Amish farm for the last 30 years. I don’t believe he’s recognized a Super Bowl halftime performer since Stevie Wonder or Diana Ross in the ’90s.

Part of this is because his musical affinity never advanced beyond Motown. He listens almost exclusively to ‘60s R&B, and as a result, I was the only kid I knew who preferred Temptations songs fronted by David Ruffin.

I’m pretty bad as well. Most of the music I listen to features a banjo, slide guitar, or some other weird instrument that teenagers hate. I do, however, drive around with my son, so I’ve listened to enough of today’s music to know I don’t like much of it.

I’d slot the Mother of Dragons somewhere between my mom and dad in terms of pop music knowledge. She’s squinting her eyes as she reads this in disagreement because she thinks she knows current songs.

However, if she knows a top-ten song, it’s either because it’s Taylor Swift or because it’s on the playlist at her gym. And now she’s nodding her head in agreement.

2 hard muthas

So, Super Bowl Sunday.

I wish I had written the entire conversation down verbatim, but these are the snippets I can remember of my mom, my dad and the Mother of Dragons attempting to understand what they were watching.

Lights up and … showtime.

Wife: “Oh it’s Lamar Kendricks!” (his name is Kendrick Lamar)

Mom: “Who is that?” Future Man: “That’s SZA.” Mom: “How do you spell that?” Future Man: “It’s spelled S-Z-A.” (there’s no way she retains that)

Wife: “Ohhhh she’s beautiful, is she a singer?” (yes, she’s singing in the halftime show)

Wife: “Wait, his first name is Kendricks?” (it’s Kendrick)

Mom: “I really like S-Y-Z.” (it’s SZA)

Wife, yelling upstairs to the Blonde Bomber: “Hey honey come downstairs Scissor’s on the TV!” (SZA is pronounced sizzah)

Blonde Bomber, running downstairs as SZA finishes her performance: “Did SZA sing Take you down?” (no one knows)

The Blonde Bomber storms off because she was mad no one called her down in time to hear the one song she wanted to hear, and none of us can tell her whether or not SZA had sung it.

Mom: “All these songs sound the same. Is this a different song?” (yes)

Future Man shakes his head, lowers his chin and walks out of the room.

Mom: “You know who I’m surprised made it this long was Eminem.” (this is like watching the halftime show in a nursing home)

Wife: “Why does Samuel L. Jackson keep popping up on the screen?” (I later found out he was a metaphor for the expectations that older America has for a halftime show and the fact that this wasn’t going to be that kind of show)

My dad: “Why is Serena Williams there?” (she used to date Drake and Kendrick Lamar wrote a diss track about Drake)

My mom: What’s a diss track?” (the latest manifestation of how the hippie generation raised their children to avoid any form of actual fighting or conflict)

Thus ensues an extremely misinformed discussion about diss tracks because Future Man has not returned.

Wife: “Oh yeah they have beef. I know all about it.” Me: “How do you know anything about it.” Wife: “I read all about it.” Me, in a very dubious tone: “Where?” (the Wall Street Journal)

A new guy in a mustard-yellow jacket appears on stage with Kendrick Lamar.

Wife: “Who is that?” (no one knew but I later found out he is appropriately named Mustard)

Kendrick Lamar: “Turn this TV off. Turn this TV off. Turn this TV off. Turn this TV off.”

My dad looks around for the TV remote.

Still talkin’

I’m making fun of my family but I was just as much in the dark as they were, I just kept it to myself. Also I read a bunch about the halftime show afterwards because I needed someone to explain it to me.

The general review of the halftime show was that young people loved it and older people were confused, which was exactly the intent. It wasn’t meant for older generations.

My mom and dad loved the Four Tops and the O Jays and absolutely despised my music. I loved Eazy-E, Public Enemy and NWA and I really don’t like anything on Future Man’s playlist. Big X Pug is no Eazy-E.

Which is fine. When you get older pop music isn’t made for you, it’s made for the younger generation. And that generation? Well, in the words of Lamar Kendricks:

They not like us. (that’s the name of the diss track)