"Ok Fury, control the iPod."
I take the iPod out of its cradle on my dashboard and hand it gingerly to Fury in the backseat, careful not to disconnect the cable keeping it plugged into the car stereo.
We both know that Dad and Fury car time means one thing: Fury plays DJ. And we crank it to eleven. Mom stayed home today and we've got an hour's drive back home from his lacrosse game. Let's rock.
The drone of that single descending note, accentuated by the steady metallic clang of a hammer on anvil is my cue.
"I AM IIIIIIRON MAAAAAN"
As Fury plays his Nintendo DS in the back, I'm perfectly happy sitting in slow but steady Sunday traffic working some killer air guitar. Black Sabbath hath charms to soothe the savage road raging beast, or so the saying goes.
The song ends. Then starts over again. The kid's got good taste.
I resume air guitaring.
The song ends. Then starts over again. Wow, he really likes this song.
I resume air guitaring once again. But this time I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn to look. He's no longer playing Nintendo. He's decided to help me keep time.
Rock Band. The wii and game disc are optional. They always were.