MUSIC TO MY EARS

FROM TRAIN TRACKS TO POPULAR DISNEY MOVIES, GET A GLIMPSE INTO THE SOUNDTRACK OF BEING SUPERDAD

As a kid, on trips from my home in the suburbs into the city, the questions would roll into my mind and often off my lips. And my dad, who was born and raised in the city — or another relative who either worked or had lived there — was usually nearby to give ready answers (that were usually historically reliable). The paraphrased exchanges went something like this: Q: Why are there so many skyscrapers in Chicago? A: Mrs. O’Leary’s cow and Daniel Burnham (mostly). Q: Why aren’t the buildings right up next to the lake, like on the beach in Florida? A: See again: Burnham. And aren’t you glad they’re not? Q: Why are Chicago drivers so crazy? A: (Laughter) That will all make sense when you’re older. But, in addition to deeper, societal questions — the answers to which included the words “racism,” “redlining,” “immigration” and “Mayor Daley” (among others), one particular observation lingered in the back of my mind into adulthood: Q: How can anyone live with their window that close to the train tracks? A: Because it just becomes background noise. My young suburban mind just couldn’t wrap itself around how anything so loud, so annoying and so frequent did not automatically make living conditions, well, automatically unlivable. Then, two things happened. First, my bride and I bought our first home. And the first night, as we settled in for bed, we discovered our cozy little old house also came with its own built-in nighttime soundtrack, thanks to the apparently busy transcontinental freight rail superhighway running less than a mile from our bedroom windows. Within a few weeks, our brains had rewired to essentially block out the sound, leaving it noticeable to anyone who may visit but rendering the honks, squeaks and dings all but inaudible to us — except when they resumed after falling silent on a holiday or slower weekend. But little did we know, an even more enduring addition to our family soundtrack would soon blow in like a blizzard through our open door, courtesy of The Walt Disney Co., two sister princesses, a jovial magic snowman and everyone else associated with the production of Disney’s “Frozen.” It quickly became apparent our little darling was not — maybe ever — going to simply let it go. Within days, it was obvious this little savant had seemingly somehow managed to learn every word of every song in the show. And within months, the frosty earworms had managed to burrow into our minds as well. (Since you will ask, yes, I know nearly all the words to many “Frozen” selections. Yes, I do still want to build a snowman. But no, I will not sing about it, except as part of my fatherly duties to ambush, annoy and embarrass my offspring.) For many months, the answer to the question of “What movie would you like to watch?” came with one, cold answer, and sometimes tears when Mom and Dad suggested we view something else. As the years wore on and the obsession diminished only slightly, her younger sister took up the icy baton. Wandering into the unknown, their mother and I felt lost in the woods, dismaying over whether Elsa would ever relinquish her icy grip, leaving us waiting on a miracle, hoping we may yet see what happens to Frozen (water) when it gets warm. Then, one day, like suddenly noticing a train had not sounded a whistle for an extended period of time, it became obvious: A magical transformation in the background soundtrack of our lives had suddenly occurred. And here is where I doff my cap in wonder to the incomparable modern titan of musical theater, LinManuel Miranda, whose talents produced Disney’s “Encanto.” Within days of viewing the film, it was again obvious our young ones were, dare I say, enchanted by the Colombian cultural backdrop, story, imagery and — most importantly, for us — the music of “Encanto.” While his work on “Hamilton” and “Moana” are personal favorites, Miranda’s lasting legacy in our household may come from the adventures of La Familia Madrigal, whose abilities, charm and Latin rhythms have unexpectedly dethroned Elsa, Anna and Olaf. At a minimum, I can say with confidence the Madrigals and “Encanto” have established a welcome rival kingdom at war for the hearts, minds and vocal cords of my young ones. And their tropical charm has, for now, thawed the frozen heart of this dad. With no offense at all to the incomparable Idina Menzel, Kristen Bell and Josh Gad, given a choice, I will almost always opt for slapping Latin pop over Broadway-style showtunes. At some point, no doubt, there will come a time when I no longer wish to talk about Bruno. But for now, I believe I can speak for many other parents across the world in saying: Today is not that day. Thank you, Mr. Miranda. In a world (and households) desperately in need of a change to the background, you delivered. Un Encanto, indeed.

 Jonathan Bilyk writes about the triumphs and travails of being a modern-day dad who legitimately enjoys time with his family, while tolerating a dog that seems to adore him. He also doesn’t really like the moniker “Superdad” because it makes it sound like he wants to wear his undergarments on the outside of his pants. (Also, the cape remains on back order.)