One critic’s view: “It is hard in a mere magazine – short of rolling this page into a tube and orating through it – to convey the sanctimonious roundness of Lundberg’s voice. ... The minute he says ‘Dear Son’ you know he hates the kid.” – William Zinsser, “The Pitfalls of Pop’s Pompous Pop-Off”, Life, Jan. 5, 1968
The public’s view: 1.06 / 5.00
An Open Letter to My Teenage Son
Regarding “An Open Letter to My
Teenage Son”
Dear Son. You ask my reaction to Victor Lundberg’s “An Open Letter to My Teenage Son”. First of all, I do not know how you learned of this obscure record that was released 40 years before you were born. Perhaps it was included in one of those Guitar Hero games that you youngsters play? It is the most poorly rated top ten hit of the 1960s, but some great men made poorly rated top ten hits in the 1960s: Ray Stevens and Bobby Vinton. If you believe that Victor Lundberg is a symbol of our nation, and that our heritage is worthy of this display of pride, you have my blessing to listen to him.
Some will unfairly judge you for being a Lundberg fan, just as I have been unfairly judged for my fondness of Men at Work. Your mother told me that it is inappropriate to bribe a church organist to play “It’s a Mistake” during someone else’s wedding procession. However, such transactions are part of our free enterprise system in the United States and are worth protecting, even if they displease your mother and her new husband.
Just as your mother has no right to judge me, you have no right to call your sister a glue sniffer merely because she spends her allowance on glue every week. We must judge every human being on his own individual potential, and your sister has more potential than a glue sniffer has. With her potential, she may someday be a telemarketer or perhaps even an unlicensed dentist. You must accept responsibility for losing your last four bottles of glue rather than blaming your sister every time one disappears.
You ask whether you should order the riblets at Applebee’s. This is a question each individual must answer within himself. But are you to tell me that these pieces of bone, surrounded by barbecue sauce and tiny but delectable specks of meat, just happened? That they simply fell off of a pig one day? God is love, and He makes himself known through His glorious creation that is available only at Applebee’s. If you reap the rewards commensurate with your own efforts, you will be eatin’ good in the neighborhood.
Remember that the menu at any restaurant is a guide and not a storm trooper. Realize that many of the past and present generation have attempted to legislate whether you can substitute a salad for one of your sides, or even to tell you that a baked potato is available only after 4 PM. This created your generation’s need to rebel against our society with fast casual dining, Uber Eats, and tapas. All of these go against the principles upon which our country was founded.
You ask my opinion of the teacher who plays Victor Lundberg to her class every morning after the Pledge of Allegiance. You ask my opinion of the factory owner who purchases copies of “An Open Letter to My Teenage Son” to give to his employees as their Christmas bonus, along with pamphlets titled Labor Unions: Communism’s Foothold. You ask my opinion of the disc jockey who locks himself in the radio studio and plays Lundberg’s record non-stop for 7 hours until he is tased by the police when he comes out to poop. Well, maybe you didn’t ask any of that, but I’m going to tell you what I think anyway.
Each of the aforementioned individuals is employing the record as Victor Lundberg intended. We all sometimes need to yell invective at a hippie peacenik, or at an impressionable person who is being swayed by that amoral lifestyle. It is tempting to litter our off-the-cuff comments with insults directed at minorities, but that would detract from our core message. We might also forget to muse about the existence and nature of God while condemning the treasonous bum. Lundberg’s recorded speech helps us avoid these difficulties. It appeases the enemy on the less impactful issues, like civil rights and male hairstyles, while allowing no room for disagreement on the sanctity of the Selective Service System. It is a tirade that we can proudly broadcast to our unwilling audience.
This does not mean that people will enjoy hearing it, but that is not the point of “An Open Letter to My Teenage Son”. It is not a record to be enjoyed. It is one to be inflicted.
Yours truly,
Your infinitely wise and patriotic father
P.S. I apologize that this letter is open. I cannot seal it because the glue flaps are missing from all of my envelopes. I must have lost them somehow.
My rating: 1 / 10
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