I was 12 years old when my dad found my stash ... of secular music. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, TLC, Backstreet Boys; they lived under my ruffle-skirted bed.
He let me know I was busted by splaying the CDs all over my floral print comforter -- a silent but deadly move.
"Why would I want to be 'living la vida loca' like Ricky Martin?" he demanded, mocking the song's hook in a nasal, sing-songy voice. That one made me giggle.
Of course, it all makes me giggle now, considering my job calls for me to listen and write about the once-forbidden secular music all day long.
For all the annoyance it caused me as a kid, my dad's secular music ban came from an honest place. He was raised in a strict Baptist home and went to church multiple times per week for services, Sunday school, Bible study, gospel choir rehearsals and performances.
My dad wasn't exactly into the whole "sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll" thing -- and that's exactly what popular secular music represented to him as he attempted to raise me and my four brothers in a similar fashion to his upbringing.
Of course, he had to face some generational obstacles; MTV, VH1 and BET were all child-protected channels on our remote control.
And when the Disney Channel started airing original tween music videos, he shut that down, too. Yeah, he shut that down real fast.
For example, my mom was pretty much my "partner in crime" when it came to my secret pop music-harboring life.
I remember riding with her in our golden Mercury Sable back in the day as we both belted out Mariah Carey classics at the top of our lungs.
We'd even circle the block several times before finally pulling into the driveway, trying our best to hit those high notes.
"Keep driving until this song is done! Oh, but this one's my favorite, go around the circle one more time ... drive slower, Mom!" I'd turn the music off and hide the cassette tape in the glove compartment as we rolled into the garage. We were so slick with it.
In an ultimate act of defiance during the 7th grade, I bought concert tickets to go see *NSYNC, or "those silly dancing boys" as my dad called them.
I cried myself to sleep when he made me sell them (to some kid who totally would not appreciate the show like I would).
The next morning, I promptly pinned up any teen magazine pull-out poster of Justin, J.C., Chris, Joey and Lance I could find all over my bedroom walls in rebellious fit. Take that!
I got over the *NSYNC tragedy ... eventually. I also learned how to manipulate the TV remote so I could secretly watch after school 'TRL' sessions with Carson Daly and catch midnight airings of 'Pop-Up Video.'
As for my dad? He got over his whole overprotective thing as I grew up. I later discovered his never before-mentioned collection of James Brown, Roberta Flack and Stevie
Wonder vinyls in his study, and he introduced me to the awesomeness of Nina Simone in my teens. Guess he went through a rebellious stage of his own, albeit not until his 20s!
But you know, I definitely think I might be making up for lost time. And I can't help but think it was the forbidden-fruit syndrome that drove me to do what I'm doing now.
As for my dad's opinion of what I do for a living ... well, the verdict's still out. When I told him that I interviewed two members of the Backstreet Boys for work a few months ago, he replied with an "Aww, that's so cute" kind of laugh.
"You mean those boys that were on your wall?" No dad, that was *NSYNC -- get it right!
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