Hamilton: SUPER grounded!
Okay, so the post itself is silly, but I’ve gotta preface it!
It’s impossible to express how deeply the musical Hamilton has moved me.*
In today’s world of manically jumping between various loci of purported connection**,
the musical represents actual connection to me: hearing others, feeling others, understanding.
So, while it might seem silly to put a spoiler warning
on events transpired more than 200 years ago,
I wouldn’t want anyone to listen to Hamilton
for the first time and find themselves
wishing they hadn’t read this post.
Upon entering my kitchen after a long workday and extra long commute, I found my six-year-old son had set up a library therein.
“Look at the sign, Mommy! Look at the sign! Look, look, look, look, look at the sign.” I saw he’d posted a “LIBARY” sign pointing me in the direction of the fridge, in front of which he’d placed one stack apiece of ADULT and KID books.
“You have to check out one,” Li’l D informed me.
“But I don’t want to read any of these. I want to keep reading Alexander Hamilton!”
“No, you have to check out one of these.”
I carefully perused the adult books–borrowed from his daddy’s shelf–before deciding on one of the kid books.
Li’l D painstakingly copied out a receipt for me, which I carried away with me while assuring him I’d not force the book upon him just because it was a kids’ book.
I promptly nestled Alexander Hamilton within its pages and set to reading.
Li’l D soon came to inquire how I was enjoying the book. I told him it was great, before deciding honesty was the best policy and revealing I’d cheated by tucking my book inside his own.
He was so bemused why I’d want to read even more about Hamilton that I offered an explanation. “Well, see, he’s in a lot of trouble right now. ‘Cause his wife found out he was … ”
“Kissing!” my husband, Anthony, offered emphatically.
“Yes, kissing another lady.”
“Why’s that bad?” asked Li’l D, as Anthony and I exchanged amused looks.
“He promised only to kiss his wife,” Anthony said.
“That’s right!” I added. “That’s what marriage is: you agree you’re only going to kiss your spouse. No one else.”
“Wow, he must be really grounded!” Li’l D exclaimed. I nodded and repressed a chuckle before resuming my reading.
My husband tried to interrupt my reading by beginning to describe a movie he’d watched last night. Midway through his explaining the second of only three interesting points in the entire movie, I had to interject, “This is not more interesting to me than Alexander Hamilton.” It’s not that I don’t want to hear about the movie. I just really want to read this chapter!
A short time later, Li’l D came back out into the living room. “You could read me Hamilton,” he said. As I rose from the couch, delighted by Li’l D’s rare offer, Anthony urged me, “Please be judicious about any ‘kissing.'”
I promised I would, but I really didn’t get to read very far.
“He was grounded, huh?” Li’l D immediately asked me.
“Yep, he sure was. Like, way grounded. You know how some kids get grounded by not getting to play with their friends? And other kids get grounded by not even getting to read? Their parents take all their books and toys away?” I quickly brainstormed how to explain to a six-year-old the level of “grounded” Hamilton was.
“Hamilton didn’t get to have any toys. He didn’t, um, get to have his books or writing stuff.”
“Wow!” Li’l D said, eyes wide. “Did he get to sleep in his bed?!”
“No! He had to sleep in his office!” I told him.
“He had to sleep on his desk? That’s really grounded!”
“Yes, he was the most grounded you could possibly be.”
“Okay, I got it,” he said, nestling into my shoulder. “Now start reading.”
I didn’t read very far before he started slurring his words from sleepiness. I only had to revise two sentences before I kissed his forehead and left the room, chuckling about how very, very silly adult affairs sound when expressed in the vernacular of six-year-olds.
** AKA “social media”