Soundtrack of a Young Life

How often did you promise yourself that you would not become your parents?

It may have been every time a decision went against you.

Or the way they dressed you and your siblings in matching outfits.

The terrible dad jokes at family gatherings.

Perhaps the way they turned car trips into a mobile prison. An inescapable lesson in awful music.

My father went through a period where he was hooked on "Hooked On..."

It all started with Hooked On Classics. A collection of classical masterpieces, merged into excessively long medleys.

There were sequels.

And spin offs.

There was even Hooked On Christmas. A quick glance through iTunes reveals the dreaded Hooked On series extended to hymns, gospel, big bands, bluegrass. Even polkas.

But the one I can't forget is Hooked on Swing. I am haunted by an upbeat tune about an ambitious ant with high hopes. High apple pie in the sky hopes.

Wedged between 2 larger brothers in the back seat of the family car, I swore a silent oath.

I would never force my children to put up with my music tastes.

How many of you have broken your promise to not become your parents?

I did even before my daughter was born.

Once we realised she could hear what was going on outside the womb, out came the iPod. Headphones were placed on my wife's beautifully round belly.

Miss Music - not yet born - had her first lessons in rhythm and melody.

Of course, we didn't play her nursery rhymes.

I played - among more sedate tunes - the Blues Brothers soundtrack.

When the great Ray Charles brought those lifeless old keys to life, Miss Music did as he implored and shook her tail feather.

At least I tell myself the kicking was dancing. Not an attempt to escape from her dad's musical tastes.

Shake a Tail Feather is the opening song on the soundtrack to Miss Music's life.

Then, there's the music I play to help her get to sleep when she's restless. Jack Johnson usually. Lullabies.

And the tunes that an insistent Miss Music has used to turn my car, into a mobile prison once more.

Only this time I'm driving. And the iPod is belting out nursery rhymes.

I've started to reclaim that space. I call it education.

Lesson one was Led Zeppelin. It failed. Miss Music didn't like the 'shouting'.

Back to nursery rhymes.

But ever so slowly, I've been introducing her to more of the music I like.

She's taken with The Beatles.

The other day she told me Elvis is "cool". Although she still can't understand why he wants to be a teddy bear.

Eric Clapton gets a plus. She even puts in the odd request for Van Morrison.

The Blues Brothers are back. Now we can both shake a tail feather.

For now, our music tastes are aligning.

She'll even tolerate Led Zeppelin.

Of course, Miss Music is not yet four. I wonder how long we've got, before she eschews the same music we're bonding over.

Before our soundtracks diverge.

For every major event in Miss Music's life, a new track will be added. Some we'll share. There are more we won't.

Ballads. The stories of her youth. Of moments shared with best friends.

Love songs. First kiss. First love. Engagement. Wedding.

Sad songs. Heartbreak. Funerals.

Our soundtracks are as individual as our fingerprints.

Before long, Miss Music's compilation of life will become largely unrecognisable to me.

Until then, I'll enjoy our moments in the car. Belting out a couple of golden oldies together.

Follow Michael on Twitter @MichaelCoombes