On Friday night, we could wait no longer. My husband, daughter, and I decided it was time to hear my son’s band. They’ve been practicing for months but he’d made it clear that he’d tell us when he was ready for us to come to a rehearsal. And that we weren’t to intrude before that time.

But we knew that all the other parents of band members had heard them play. It was time for us to have a chance too.

It was time.

Cool and Unusual Punishment is the name of my son’s band and they rehearse every Friday night in the drummer’s apartment. The drummer’s parents are extremely good natured about the noise. They actually keep the drum set in the living room.

Cool parents.

The people in their apartment building are good natured too.  Apparently last week they called while the group was rehearsing a song  called "Where is My Mind?" by the Pixies. the drummer’s mother came into the living room holding the telephone: "The woman downstairs would like to speak with you," she said ominously. The kids got nervous, of course, sure that she was calling to complain about the noise.  But it turned out that she loves the song, "Where is My Mind" and just wanted the band to play it again. And so they did.

Last night my son gave us the okay: he allowed us to come over and hear what the band has been up to. We sat on the couch in the drummer’s living room and listened for 15 minutes or more as the band played the four songs they’re been rehearsing for the gig at CBGB’s next month. They did two originals, "Where is My Mind," and the Queen classic,  "Another One Bites the Dust."

I don’t know what I was expecting but boy was I impressed. My son took up the bass less than a year ago. And it’s only since this CBGB’s gig that he’s gotten serious. He looked so grown up playing his bass, eyes closed, his long hair swinging into his face, moving his fingers up and down the fret board. As to the others, I really had no idea. But I have to say, they really blew my socks off. The music sounded great, the arrangements were interesting, and they play very well togther.

Walking home from the drummer’s apartment, my son kept asking my daughter what she thought of his band. She wouldn’t say at first, but later said it was too noisy and that she didn’t like it much.  I’d chalk it up to an acute case of sibling rivalry. Still, he looked a tad dismayed.

"What about us? We loved it," I said.

"I know, I know," my son answered. "That’s what parents are supposed to do. You guys love everything I do."  he said.

"Well, there are things I don’t love that you do like your grade in math," I retorted.

"Oh, I know. I meant the artistic stuff. You always like that…" he said.

Well, it’s nice to know he thinks I’m supportive.

We don’t know the date of the CBGB’s gig yet. I hope he decides to tell us because we’d like nothing more than to be in the audience rooting for the band. Then again, if he doesn’t invite us, that’s his perogative. This is something he’s really doing on his own. And like some very worthwhile things in life, sometimes you just don’t want your parents around.