I’m perpetually followed by a trio of songs. They’re my personal auditory specters, always lurking, ready to jump out and yell, “Boo! Gotcha! Now sing along!” And resistance is futile. Every single time, I find myself singing along.
The first of these spectral songs is “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something. Let’s address this upfront: Breakfast at Tiffany’s is, to put it mildly, a problematic movie. Beyond just being bad, it’s riddled with racism. It’s genuinely baffling why the song’s lyricist, and his soon-to-be ex, would have any positive associations with this film. In fact, a fondness for it might be grounds for immediate dumping, regardless of who’s doing the dumping.
Audrey Hepburn embodies Holly Golightly in a still from the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s, a film referenced in the Deep Blue Something song.
Yet, despite the movie’s flaws, that chorus is undeniably catchy! I secretly hope the lead singer of Deep Blue Something is eternally serenading himself with that tune, a fitting karmic payback for inflicting it upon the rest of us.
The second phantom track is “Cantaloop (Flip Fantasia)” by Us3, a 90s experiment blending Blue Note jazz with rap. Strangely, it’s the only rap song I can flawlessly perform from start to finish. This means there’s a non-zero chance you might catch me muttering boasts about my (non-existent) basketball prowess and rapping skills during the day.
However, it’s the third song that truly digs into my psyche. It triggers a deep-seated guilt, even over trivial matters, because…
I am determined to never, ever, EVER become the father depicted in Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle.”
For those fortunate enough to be unfamiliar, this folk-pop ballad serves as a cautionary tale about parenting and the unintended lessons we impart to our children. The song narrates the life of a father perpetually too busy for his son. He misses his son’s first steps, his first words, even brushing off his birth as merely happening “in the usual way”—a sentiment his wife likely didn’t share amidst the throes of labor.
Consider this telling verse:
My son turned ten just the other day
He said, “Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let’s play
Can you teach me to throw”, I said “Not today, I got a lot to do”…
Good grief, what a terrible father!
Where do we even begin? His ten-year-old is thrilled with a simple ball? He doesn’t know how to throw, implying a complete absence of father-son catch games? And this dad can’t spare even half an hour to toss a ball with his son on his birthday? Seriously, a ball was the pinnacle of his son’s birthday desires? Has this dad even bothered to have a conversation with his neglected child? He’s practically a cartoon villain! Wait, even Dr. Evil tried to bond with his son! I wouldn’t be surprised if this dad doesn’t even know his son’s name; it’s conspicuously absent from the song. “Here’s a ball, kid. Go entertain yourself.”
The chorus isn’t any more comforting. It’s almost unsettling to imagine crowds in the 70s, with their long hair and bell bottoms, swaying and singing along to this as if it were some kind of feel-good anthem:
And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin’ home, Dad? I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then, son
You know we’ll have a good time then
Cue the lighters! Woohoo! A singalong for neglectful parents everywhere!
As a parent for the past decade, one of my core principles has been to actively create meaningful moments. And I genuinely believe I excel at it – scratch that, I’m legendary at it.
I’m always on the lookout for local concerts and events, meticulously plan elaborate family vacations, and diligently attend and record every school play, sports game, and childhood milestone. Want to see my home movie collection? It has its own special shelf. I’ve documented everything. I even have a video of my one-year-old projectile vomiting all over me. Capture every moment!
(Incidentally, my kids find that particular video endlessly amusing. It might actually be their favorite.)
But despite my commitment to these family adventures and bonding experiences, I know deep down I’m also battling that persistent song, that parental musical ghost always ready to shout “Boo!” and remind me of the pitfalls of parental absence.
The album cover for Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle”, the song at the heart of the author’s parental reflections.
I refuse to look back on my parenting years and imagine my children feeling disappointed by my lack of presence. This is a crucial point that many parents might overlook: it’s rarely about the extravagant event or the expensive presents. Children primarily crave our time and attention. Yes, Disneyland is fantastic, but it’s even more magical when you’re sharing the roller coaster seat with them. The song hints at this too – the son is more excited about a simple game of catch than the fancy new ball itself.
Some might argue I should thank Harry Chapin for this song. They might say it serves as a constant reminder to be present and engaged. Sure, why not? But it’s a reminder delivered through a hefty dose of guilt! Argh!
And honestly, I likely would have been a good dad even without this underlying anxiety. I genuinely enjoy about 95% of the activities my kids are into. I’m essentially a big kid myself. They might even outgrow my childish enthusiasm soon. This engaged parenting style would still be my reality, but thanks to this unsettling song, I’m perpetually questioning if it’s enough.
Is it? IS IT EVER ENOUGH?
Should I sneak in just one more hug? (Okay, yes, obviously, but you get my point.)
The song’s ending is arguably its most bizarre element, and that’s saying something. It sparks debate and likely has no definitive interpretation.
The son is now grown with his own family. (Has the narrator even bothered to learn his grandchildren’s names, I wonder?) The aging father, finally with time on his hands, reaches out to his son, hoping to connect. Here’s the song’s concluding verse for closer examination:
I’ve long since retired, my son’s moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, “I’d like to see you if you don’t mind”
He said, “I’d love to, Dad, if I can find the time
You see my new job’s a hassle and kids have the flu
But it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad
It’s been sure nice talking to you.”
And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me
He’d grown up just like me
My boy was just like me
“My boy was just like me?” WHAT?!
The father is utterly, tragically mistaken! His son is the polar opposite of him!
If anything, his son has learned precisely how not to be like his father. I’d wager the two primary lessons the son absorbed throughout his life were (1) he didn’t want to replicate his father’s parenting style, and (2) he had no desire to spend time with his emotionally distant dad. And on that second point, I wholeheartedly concur with the son.
The son is now a father actively involved in his children’s lives (“the kids have the flu”). Good for him! He’s not phoning it in (the flu is undeniably unpleasant). Yet, somehow, the self-absorbed older dad interprets this as his son being just like him. How? This is a man being a responsible father, not a detached, self-centered parent. I bet his house is filled with toys that are actually played with, not just neglected sports equipment gathering dust. And I’m willing to bet this son was present for his children’s first words and first steps, even if their births were, indeed, “in the usual way.”
Now, considering this ending, is it possible Harry Chapin himself missed the point of his own song? It’s conceivable. Or perhaps some listeners are misinterpreting it.
Is it an unreliable narrator situation? That might be too sophisticated an interpretation for a relatively straightforward folk song.
Harry Chapin was undoubtedly a compassionate individual, dedicating his life to numerous worthy causes and charities. That’s undeniable. And there’s a strong possibility he aimed to make a positive impact with this song. If “Cat’s in the Cradle” has inspired even one person to be a better father, that’s a commendable achievement. I support the call for men to be more engaged fathers. But personally, I just wish this song would finally vacate my brain.
I long to get this cat out of the cradle.
