Author's Note: My daughter loves this song. I hate it, or a I thought I did, until I caught myself singing along with it the other day. So, I guess it's grown on me. Sort of. This little fic is my way of justifying that sad fact to myself. I have no clue whom to credit as the songwriter, but they know who they are, and I know it ain't me. Also, I have only included whatever lyrics are necessary to tell the story; the Springsteen fan in me wouldn't let me write out the whole song.
Party On, Kid
by
Moviemom44
…I put my hands up
They're playin' my song
The butterflies fly away
Noddin' my head, like yeah,
Movin' my hips, like yeah,
I put my hands up
They're playin' my song
I know I'm gonna be OK
Yeah
It's a party in the USA
Yeah
It's a party in the USA
"Shit, I hate that song."
"You said we'd listen to my iPod this trip, so zip it. I like this."
"You do? Miss 'Nine Inch Nails' likes little Hannah what's-her-face?"
"It's Miley Cyrus. Hannah Montana is a character on a TV show."
"Right. I don't care what her name is, she still can't sing to save her life."
"Well, I don't like all of her songs, just this one. It's catchy; it's kind of fun to sing."
"Do you ever listen to what you're singing? 'Inane' doesn't even begin to cover it."
"Ya know what, Logan? Most of the time, you are the coolest guy I know, but every now and then, you sound like—"
"Watch it…"
"A dad."
"Oh, shit, I thought you were going to say I sounded like Scott."
"Six of one, half a dozen of the other. And if the shoe fits…"
"Perish the thought, darlin' – on both counts."
"No, really. It doesn't happen often, but this, sugar, you do not get."
"So, enlighten me, kid."
"The words to the song really aren't that important, it's the feeling they inspire. It's a celebration of life, a youthful spirit expressing the simple joy it finds in simply being. Do you get that at all?"
"I probably did, once. I'd like to think I did, but I guess the closest I can remember ever getting to that feeling was with Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run.' Now, that is a song about freedom that I do get."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Dammit, Marie, it ain't just the title and it ain't that kind of running. It's about how life comes at you fast and hard and you gotta be ready to move with it, because you have to 'get to that place where we really wanna go, and we'll walk in the sun, but til then, tramps like us, baby we were born to run."
"Holy shit, Logan, you should sing more often. That was good."
"Hmmph."
"No, I mean it. Wow."
"Thanks."
"So maybe you do get it…a little."
"I still hate that song, but if it makes you feel all those things—free and wild and young, like you've got the world by the tail—then you have at it, darlin'. Because that's exactly how you should feel. It's how you would feel, all the time, if I had my way."
"I don't need to feel that way all the time, but now and then it's good to let something like a stupid song just sort of, I don't know, lighten the load a little, you know?"
"Yeah, I know. Sorry I talked all the way through your song. Guess you missed it."
"That's the beauty of an iPod. I just press this button and…I hopped off the plane at LAX, with a dream in my heart again…"
"Party on, kid. Party on."
THE END