Rap Music Heals Relationships?

In order to give my son the help he needed, it required him to live across the state. As a mom, it was hard to predict what new things he would be exposed to while in this new environment. My husband and I traveled on weekends to visit him. As he improved in the program, he earned more privileges. Some of the best ones were “passes.” Passes allowed us to spend quality time with him away from the facility. However, learning how to be with the new person your child morphed into during your absence is not so great if you are not ready for it. I was not.

Considering myself to have broad musical taste, I had no problem granting his request when he asked to choose the music in the car. I was eager to start the pass off right. However, I was taken aback by the Rap music that came out of the speakers. All I heard was foul language, racial slurs, drug, and sexual references. My son was a very sheltered 13-year-old when he entered the program—the boy I am sharing my radio with–not so much.

We argued about listening to Rap. I wanted to protect my innocent child from thinking women are less than, that songs must be angry, and vulgar. I did not want him using racial slurs like the ones peppered throughout the songs. This music went against my values, and I no longer had an open mind.

We compromised on radio versions of the songs. I told myself that anything was possible for a few hours, including listening to music that made my son happy. Here is the rub- unless the songs were explicit in lyrics, he wasn’t satisfied. The song wasn’t “real.” How could I allow him to listen to music that I found offensive and inappropriate? So, I did what I do well–I gave him an ultimatum: either listen to the radio approved version of the songs (setting in Spotify) or find something else to listen to.

I wanted to discuss this topic with my therapist because it made no sense to me. I needed to know how to convince my son to not be so inflexible with his Rap demands. The answers I received surprised me. I expected her to tell me, “What a good mom! Protecting him even though he was hundreds of miles away.” I wanted to hear I was right, and he would need to get over it. I was confident that I was right.

The line of questioning I received from her did not fit into the picture I had in my mind. She asked me what was wrong with Rap. Thinking to myself, “How do you not know this?” I listed all the worries I had about littering my son’s mind with the songs. I got as far as the songs treat women as sexual objects. That’s when she threw logic into my argument. My therapist told me that all genres of music degrade women; it’s not unique to Rap music. I needed a moment. I didn’t believe her and knew I needed to educate her about this. However, the very first Country music song that came to mind was exactly what I was arguing against. “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On” is solely about how sexy a woman looks wearing her jeans. Oops. After that, I listened with an open mind about how Rap music is no different in storytelling than other genres.

She challenged me to see my son’s point of view. She gave me a playlist and asked me to listen to all the songs and tell her the meaning of each one. Because I am a smart woman who does not like to fail, I knew I could power through this playlist and complete my homework assignment.

Too bad that I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to listen to the songs! My brain hurt from trying to hear the lyrics, not just what offended me. There were so many songs on that playlist, and I couldn’t seem to get past the first two without turning it off. Determined to do the lesson, I needed a plan. I promised myself that I would start at the beginning of the playlist every time I stopped the music. I figured I could desensitize myself by finding the first ones familiar with enough plays.

The plan worked. Over the next few weeks, whenever I was alone (because I sure didn’t want to expose it to anyone else), I played that playlist, starting from the beginning song each time. It was embarrassing at a red light. I will not lie; I turned down the volume to prevent the weird stares I knew would come my way while in traffic and in drive-throughs. After a while the songs became familiar, and I grew to understand their stories. I admit some songs stumped me as to their meaning, and I was not above Googling the song to read its summary. With this new knowledge, I gained an appreciation for the music. I understood that the vulgar language is essential to the songs. (Overused, sure, but necessary to emphasize a point). I was excited to share my new knowledge with my son, and I knew we would listen together. Wrong again.

The playlist I used in my learning was not what the kids listen to. He would not listen to my playlist with me. That is when I took a deep breath and asked him to play me his music. It wasn’t pretty, but I got through it. He then started telling me the meaning of the songs. We had conversations about social issues. I learned his values had not changed even though his taste in music did.

Now I am considered the “cool mom” because I have been caught blasting Rap music from my car radio. I am the one with the loud bass that rattles my car as I sit in line at carpool. My son sees my willingness to meet him at his level instead of forcing him to come to mine. He gave me a high compliment recently. He said I am not a “Karen” and then had to explain that to me too. Urban Dictionary defines “Karen” as “A mother of three, blond, and owns a Volvo. She is annoying as hell. She wears acrylics 24/7 and is currently at your workplace speaking to your manager.” For that alone, I am grateful to my therapist, who used Rap music to teach me a lesson. Not only did I finish my homework assignment, but I also made positive strides in a relationship.