Dear Mr. Yankovic,
John Waters once said, “The first songs that you love that your parents hate is the beginning of the soundtrack to your life.” I normally wouldn’t agree with such an absolute, but dagnabbit, I’ve found that to be the case. My mother’s frustration hit a peak a few years ago when I started blasting what she thought was Pharrell’s Happy, only to learn it was your … tackier version. My father once insisted that Piano Man by Billy Joel was too good to be turned into a song about Spider-Man. They never said I couldn’t listen to you, but it was clear they didn’t like you.
Your music has stayed with me. It wasn’t just because my parents disapproved; I was never the rebellious type. It’s that your work has spoken to me in a way others haven’t, as it refused to take anything seriously. I felt like I was being sung to directly. Your polka mixes have lifted me on bad days. I still have instances when I will hear a song I haven’t heard before, but I already know the parody like the back of my hand. Running With Scissors was the first CD I bought with my own money. You’ve always been there for me, and I am grateful for that beyond the words I’m stringing together here.
You recently talked about seeing different versions of your daughter throughout the years, and that hit me like a truck. I became a father four years ago to two incredible twin boys. Every version of them has been marvelous, and I’d gladly live through any phase they’ve been through again and again. They are good, sweet dudes who always find new ways to make me proud to be their father. Sharing my loves and interests with them has been an incredible gift. There are things they’ve taken to with gusto like Ghostbusters and Pee-Wee’s Playhouse. But there are two things I’ve shared with them that they love the most. One is your music.
To them, you are polka, to the point that I had to explain they couldn’t ask their Alexa to “play polka” and expect to hear one of your songs. But the moment they hear those horns blaring and that accordion grooving, they’re on their feet and dancing around. Dare To Be Stupid gets such regular airtime in our house, I had to clarify that calling someone stupid is not okay, but singing it along with you is allowed. They have embraced your music so readily and happily. It makes my heart sing in a way I never could have imagined. I’m also learning to love your music all over again through these two happy li’l fellas.
That is also the case with the other thing they’ve taken to: Captain Underpants. I started reading the books to them this year, and to say they are obsessed would be an understatement (though it helped that you were name-dropped in the first book). They listen to the audiobooks during meals. One will occasionally excuse himself to bury his face in one of the Captain’s adventures. By the time I showed them the movie, they were already hooked, but hearing your voice come through at the end of the movie sealed the deal.
Your Captain Underpants theme song gets played here more than… anything else. When my boys sing and dance and yell, “Egg salad sandwich,” they tap into a kind of primal energy usually reserved for all-night coffee binges. They’re so friggin happy in a delightfully infectious way they’ve managed to convince me, on more than one occasion, to sport a pair of tight whiteys and a cape, and pretend to be the famed hero (though when a four-year-old points the 3-D hypno ring at you and says “You are now the amazing Captain Underpants” you don’t have much choice). My wife and I will drop what we’re doing to dance with them. It’s just the best, and it brings me to the point of this letter: a humble request.
My wife and I will be taking our kids to their first concert this summer. It will be a family trip from Jersey City to Manhattan to see you at Madison Square Garden on July 12th. I’ve only seen you in concert once before, when my wife surprised me with tickets almost a decade ago. I sat in Radio City Music Hall and laughed until I cried for three hours. Not only was I buzzing from seeing one of my idols on stage, but I also felt like I fit in for the first time in my life. I saw people who looked, acted, and dressed like me, with bad posture, glasses, and all. And some of them had kids who looked like them, and I knew then and there I wanted to experience that too.
No matter what, our trip to MSG will be a memorable one. But I would be remiss if I did not ask: Could you please perform the Captain Underpants theme that evening? I will completely understand if you cannot. But I wouldn’t be a good father if I didn’t use every power at my disposal to ask. Part of my duty as a dad is to keep the world magical for them as long as I can, and I know hearing that song in a packed arena would be a moment they would never forget. Their brains may melt (in a good way).
Thank you, regardless, for making me feel less alone in this world. Thank you for your work. And thank you for giving me something I can share with my children. One day, they’ll undoubtedly curate their own interests, and I will do my best to accept them and, dare I say, participate in them. I want to like what they like (even if I really don’t). I refuse to be the kind of parent John Waters spoke of. But, no matter what happens, I know my children and I will always share a love of joyful accordions and silly lyrics. For that, I am forever in your debt.
