Most of us idolized a celebrity as a child. For me, it was Kirk Cameron and Shaun Cassidy. I had posters of both on my walls and thought they were the coolest people ever to walk the earth. I sang Dah Doo Ron Ron repeatedly out loud into White Rain hairspray bottles, and was convinced Shaun’s eyes followed me around my bedroom while hanging from my butterfly wallpaper.
So it’s no surprise that my 2nd-grader who loves music is totally hooked on Blake Shelton. I mean he wants to BE Blake. He knows every word to every album cut on every Blake album out there. He sings Blake songs from his karaoke machine at full blast, drowning out my request to come downstairs for dinner. And he’s downloaded nearly a full college tuition in Blake songs from itunes.
Last summer, my son sat mesmerized in the front row of Blake’s concert (it pays to have a mom in radio), and for the first time was speechless when he met Blake backstage. Blake signed my son’s Angry Birds notebook, which was his show-and-tell item the following week at school. A big deal to an 8-year-old boy, folks. Blake handed my son a guitar pick from stage, and he slept with it under his pillow for several weeks. The pick has since been moved to his SUPER SECRET HIDING PLACE.
The one big brothers don’t know about.
On the way home from that show, my son remarked ‘Boy, Blake sure does cuss a lot.’ Yes son, yes he does. My sweet innocent child commented that he can’t wait to ‘turn 18 and cuss, too.’
Lucky me. I’ve always encouraged him to set goals.
He sings with conviction phrases like ‘Baby, maybe we could just drink on it,’ and ‘He flipped me the bird’ during his daily backseat concerts in my car. Not exactly making a mother proud. Before long, he requests a different Blake song: ‘Cut 3 please, Mom.’ And we’ve heard it seven times by the time we arrive to our destination, but I play each and every one.
Because I love the smile on my son’s face.
On television, my son watches, rewinds, then rewinds again, the Blake Shelton special on GAC that features his life story. He comments that Blake’s wife, Miranda, is pretty. He repeats Blake’s soundbites with the same twang you hear in Blake’s voice.
He also asks if he can get a mullet.
I love my son’s spirit.
Until he returned home from school yesterday with his Flat Stanley project saying he needs to send it to someone who will host it for one week, take photos of the experience, then mail it back. I suggested a few:
Nana in Florida
Aunt Cindy in North Carolina
Cousins in Charleston
He shook his head no, saying he had already decided:
‘I’m sending my Flat Stanley to Blake Shelton.’
His father and I quickly exchanged glances, knowing this wouldn’t end well. I’ve talked to Blake on several occasions, backstage and on-air, but knew this wasn’t a great idea. I explained that Blake is a pretty busy guy and may not have time to host Stanley.
‘Busy doing WHAT?’ he responded. ‘He could do it at, like, 11 pm, Mom. And if I can’t send it to Blake, then I want to send it to… Jesus.’
(By the way, my son isn’t the only family member who admires Blake Shelton. Read about the time my grandmother met Blake here.)