AD: “Child, what are you doing?”
KatyBeth: “I’m rocking, Daddy!”
AD: “Well, stop it. Besides, that ain’t rock. That’s… well, I don’t know what the hell that is. But it ain’t rock.”
KatyBeth (still bobbing her head and singing along): “Somebody call 911, Shawty fire burning on the dance floor…”
AD: “Stop. For God’s sake, stop. Don’t ever do that in public. What will the other parents think, if my kid looks like one of the Butabi brothers? If you’re gonna rock out, at least let me show you how. Hold your right hand up like this.”
[demonstrates]
KatyBeth: “Like the Hook ‘Em Horns, Daddy?”
AD: “Exactly. Now bang your head like this.”
[again demonstrating]
KatyBeth: “Wow. That gives me a headache, Daddy.”
AD: “Me too. It helps if you have better music, though. [scrolling radio channels for a decent song] There, like that.”
AD and KatyBeth: [headbanging to AC/DC's You Shook Me All Night Long]
KatyBeth: “We rock, Daddy.”
AD: “We do indeed. Now you’re set for your first rock concert.”
KatyBeth: “I can do this if I ever go to a Hannah Montana concert!”
AD: “Um, no. Hannah Montana does not rock. Real rock bands do not have synthesizers, or drum machines. Neither do they have backup dancers. And they have to have at least one sweaty guy shredding a guitar solo. It’s the law.”
KatyBeth (firmly): “Daddy, Hannah Montana does too rock.”
AD: “Well, then. I stand corrected.”
