ROCKY GROUND by BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN. Story by Martina Medica.

Ringwood East, 2012

I thought I knew all of your words. Sweedio for our music studio. Beeyum for bin truck. Uuuuuuggge for huge. Dgee-um for medium. But I had not heard this one before.

“Bimsinstim!” you repeated.

I wracked my brain, trying to figure it out.

“I’m sorry possum, I don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You were growing more and more agitated. “Bimsinstim! BIMSINSTIM!” You pointed wildly at the car stereo from your carseat. After a frustrating minute or two for both of us, I remembered that your dad had recently bought a new CD. Binsinstim …

“Bruce Springsteen? You want to listen to Bruce Springsteen?”

“YESHHH!” you declared happily. “Bim Sinstim!” Then: “Wotty doun!” I sighed.

It had been what felt like a long, rocky path to get here. The newborn weeks and early months were harder than I ever could have expected or imagined. For a long time, I was convinced that I was not meant to be a parent. But we muddled through, you and I. A lot of tears, mostly mine, thankfully. A lot of laughs, too, from both of us. And we formed a bond that was strong, and uniquely us.

And now suddenly you were a toddler, and I was loving every moment of it. You gave me cuddles readily, kisses less so, but you let me snuggle with you and sniff your delicious head, which is all a mum can ask for, really. In the early mornings you would come and lie in bed with me and play balloon pop games on my phone while I dozed. Those mornings, with your cold little feet resting on my legs, were among the most beautiful and peaceful of my life.

You were funny and silly and so quick to learn. You were scared of the afore-mentioned beeyums, but in awe of diggers. You loved Giggle & Hoot, and Peppa Pig. And you loved music.
At not even two, you hadn’t quite developed your own musical taste yet, but to be fair you were only exposed to mine and your dad’s musical choices. And in our house, it was never going to be the Wiggles (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

That’s how we ended up here, with you asking for ‘Wotty Doun’, that well-known Springsteen hit.

At the traffic lights, I flicked through the CDs in the console until I found the Springsteen one your dad had bought. “Wrecking Ball”. The lights went green, so there was no time to look through the tracklist. I slipped the disc into the car CD player.

“Tell me when you hear your song, ok?”

“Oh-tay!” you said, cheerfully.

You were slightly less cheerful as I skipped through the tracks. Each song got stony silence or a cross “No!” and I wondered if you’d even recognise the song if you heard only the very beginning.

But finally, after eight skips, track nine came on. And with the opening declaration of “I’m a soldier!” your recognition was instant. “DIS! DIS! Wotty Doun!”

You grinned at me in the mirror and started singing along.

Wotty Doun – or, ‘Rocky Ground’, as it is actually called – is an anthemic call to action and to leadership. While the lyrics speak of Jesus and his flock, of angels and judgement day, the message is one of perseverance and hope, even – or perhaps especially – when things just feel really, really hard. It’s a message I felt I needed then, and probably still do now.

I’m fairly sure, though, that you didn’t request the song because of its profound message. No, at the age of ‘not quite two,’ it was just a song you liked, and especially a song you liked to sing.

You sang along to it in the car that day, and you sang it often for the next year or two. You sang it at your grandparents’ houses. You sang it at daycare. You sang it at home in our studio, into a microphone and on video, something we are looking forward to sharing with the world at your 21st birthday. We all sang it while driving, or walking, or cycling over – yep – rocky ground. Along with Jack White’s ‘On and On’, it was the soundtrack to your toddler years.

Eventually though, I guess you outgrew it. You are 13 now, and you certainly don’t sing it any more. You still love music though – playing it and listening to it. Your own taste is definitely developing, and though I will never understand your hatred of folk music (I mean, Bimsinstim is a folk musician!), I am thrilled that you have a favourite Beatles album and can tell the difference between John’s and Paul’s voices (most of the time). I’m enjoying learning about the songs and sounds you like, and I’m not above using the “Hollow Knight” soundtrack to bribe you into the kitchen, so you’ll help me cook dinner.

You’re still not big on kisses, but you love a mum cuddle, and you still occasionally let me sniff your delicious head.
The teen years are here, and I’m aware that things are changing. You’re growing up and growing apart and growing into yourself and it’s all to be expected. Maybe even embraced.

Really though, I’m not too worried, because the bond we share is still strong, and still uniquely us. With a bit of hope and perseverance, I know that will never change.
And if we do encounter some rocky ground? Well, I happen to know a song for that.

Stereo Story #843