My son used to sit in my lap when he was a baby -- less than a year old, because I remember the house this occurred in -- straddling my lap and his face toward me. He'd hold onto my shirt with both hands like a little monkey and we'd rock and rock while I sang every song I knew. He had colic and the only thing that seemed to make him feel better was sitting and rocking and hearing my lullabyes. When he'd start to droop, I thought we were through with the singing. But if I started to get up, he'd bang his little fists a few times on my chest until I began a new song. Like bopping the jukebox to get it started again.

I sang "East Virginia," "All My Trials," (I'd change the "your mama's going to die" part), "Now That the Buffalo's Gone," "Babe, I"m Gonna Leave You," "Can't Help Lovin' That Man," "Never-Never Land," and on and on and on. Kind of downer songs, for the most part, but he turned out ok.

KC