Blades, Trains, and Grenades

A while back, hearing the pop song “Grenade” by Bruno Mars for the first time, I thought the lyrics macabre, a bit pathetic and totally unrealistic. OK, granted, my particular age group would not be his target audience. Undoubtedly I’ve grown somewhat cynical through my life’s journey and I’ve left my bright-eyed passion at a rest area somewhere along the way. But I’m pretty sure that even as a 17-year-old I never felt this way about anyone:

I'd catch a grenade for ya,
Throw my head on a blade for ya,
I'd jump in front of a train for ya …
I would go through all this pain,
Take a bullet straight through my brain,
Yes, I would die for you baby,
But you won't do the same.

My first thought was good lord, no! If it were my daughter he was singing about, I would hope she wouldn’t do the same. That’s just Mr. Mars’s off-kilter notion of romance. I’ve never even seen a grenade, except in the movies. Throw my head on a blade? Circumstances that would require such drastic actions are pretty much beyond the scope of my imagination. Take a bullet straight through my brain? Well, maybe … but only if it actually goes straight through. I desire a swift end; I wouldn’t care to have a bullet lodge in there permanently.

Most likely Bruno Mars just wanted his song to rhyme, and didn’t intend anyone to dissect it for its sociological implications. Grenades, blades and bullets aside, the jumping-in-front-of-a-train scenario IS somewhat plausible, especially around here with the busy Metra line. Such are the musings of a born-and-bred pragmatist.

Of course, someone with a less practical nature than mine would say Mr. Mars is expressing a very sweet sentiment, which is not necessarily meant to be taken literally. Although when I launched into the subject with two of my daughters, Christina asked me if I wouldn’t take a bullet to the brain for her dad. (Curt, if you’re reading this, now might be a good time to play some Spider Solitaire instead.) Though I love him dearly and I’d love to be the sort of heroic person who could honestly answer “of course!” without a moment’s hesitation, I had to think about it. Which, I suppose, is your answer, because if a bullet came whirring out of nowhere on a direct course toward Curt’s rather impressively-sized noggin, my taking a moment to think it over would render the point moot.

This macabre vein of conversation continued as Christina and Angie took up the subject in earnest. Probably in order to clinch her continued status as favorite daughter (at least as viewed by her older sisters), Christina shocked me by saying that she would take a bullet for me. Not to be outdone, Angie said that of course she would as well, but it would seem merely ingratiating to say so after Christina had said it first.

As dear expressions of love as those were, sincere or not, let the record show that if anyone is going to be taking bullets for anyone else here, it’s me who’s going to do the taking for my daughters or grandkids. Without hesitating for even a nanosecond. What mother wouldn’t? (The ones featured on the cable TV show “Snapped,” for starters. But that was just a rhetorical question.) Dredge up that old philosophical discussion question about who gets to board the lifeboat when the ship is sinking; if there’s only room for eight, our daughters and grandkids are getting on, no argument. Curt and I will go down with the ship.

And if that lifeboat should have room for nine, the person who I’m pretty sure would take a bullet to the brain for me is way more deserving of the spot.