“Who’s a good drummer?” asked Maddie, climbing onto the couch and examining the Rock Band drums.
“This guy,” I answered, pointing to the TV. “Keith Moon.”
“I know who he is,” pouted Maddie. “You play this disc a lot. This is the Who.” She looked up at the TV for a bit, as Moon the Loon joked about going backstage to overdose. I cringed. “I think he tries too hard to be funny. Who else?”
I closed the file I’d been working on, then the laptop itself. “Who else what?”
“Who else is a good drummer?” asked Maddie.
I scratched my head, thought about saying “Ringo Starr,” then changed my mind. “Martin Chambers.”
Maddie cocked her head to one side. “Who’s he?”
“He plays drums for the Pretenders. First band I ever saw live. Unless you count my cousin’s band when they played the Del Mar Fair. I guess that makes the Pretenders the second band I ever saw live. Anyway, that’s Don. You’ve met him. He’s a drummer too. And so’s Dustin, Don’s son. He’s in Afghanistan.”
“Is that a band?”
“Is what a band?”
“Afghanistan.”
“No. That’s a country.”
“Oh… wow.” Maddie scratched an ear thoughtfully. “He plays drums for a whole country?”
“Well, no. He’s a Marine.” I tugged my beard thoughtfully. “But it’s an arguably good metaphor.”
Maddie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to talk about metaphors,” she snorted. “I want to know about drummers. All the drummers you mentioned are boys.”
“So you want to know about girl drummers?”
“Sheesh,” shrugged Maddie. “Duh.”
“Okay, Moe Tucker.”
“No, girl drummers. Moe is a boy’s name.”
“Hang on, Maddie. Moe—short for Maureen—was the drummer for the Velvet Underground.”
“Okay. Who else?”
“Gina Shock from the Go-Gos, Meg White from the White Stripes. There’s a bunch. Why are you so curious about drummers, anyway?”
“I always wanted to be a drummer. I bet I’m a real good drummer.” Maddie leaned forward, sniffing at the Rock Band drum set, tail wagging. “I bet I am.” She looked back at her wagging tail, as if surprised. “Hey, I’ve even got a built-in metronome.”
“You want me to turn on the game?”
“Would you?”
“Sure. But we’ve had this thing for, like, a year. How come you weren’t interested before?”
“I couldn’t reach the drums before. Here by the couch, I can.”
I swapped discs, plugged in USB cables, and navigated through menus. Maddie picked out a song, then looked up at me, grinning.
“Okay,” said Maddie. “I’m ready to rock and roll. One question, though.”
“What’s that?”
“What are the sticks for, anyway?”
