Steve Bartlett

He earned the video, so without question, I suffer through an amateur recording of Bieber singing “Despacito” in concert.

I sense a coaching moment and continue the parenting ritual of trying to influence a child’s taste in tunes, a tradition that began when the first cave parent asked, “You bang rocks together like that and call it music?”

“Let me pick a song,” I ask my son after “Despacito” ends.

He agrees, likely because it might lead to staying up a little later.

Randomly, I play AC/DC “You Shook Me All Night Long (From Live at River Plate).”

Seconds into the song, I’m shaking my head like guitarist Angus Young and hurting my throat trying to sound like lead singer Brian Johnson.

I’m rocking out, a one-man AC/DC tribute act, or as I like to call it, AC/ DSteve.

My son listens for a minute and starts singing “Despacito.”

In the middle of my jam!

“That’s just not as good as Justin Beiber,” he says of AC/DC.

I take a deep breath and decide now is not the time to argue or disagree.

He’s entitled to his taste in music, sports teams and anything else. (It breaks my heart when he pledges allegiance to the Montreal Canadiens.)

That doesn’t mean I can’t expose him to Dad’s Playlist and introduce him to some songs he might enjoy though.

It includes, but is not limited to (and I’d love to hear your suggested additions):

– “Panama,” Van Halen – “Knocking at your back door,” Deep Purple

– “Nautical

Hip

– “Hey Hey, My My,” Neil Young – “The Chain,” Fleetwood Mac – “The Trooper,” Iron Maiden – “Deuce,” KISS

– “Master of Puppets,” Metallica – “Eleanor Rigby,” The Beatles – “Money City Maniacs,” Sloan – “Ruby Tuesday,” Rolling Stones My plan is to introduce Dad’s Playlist to him “despacito,” which fittingly means “slowly” in English. Disaster,” Tragically