Encourage young girls to be savvy media critics

This is not, I promise, a column about how one generation's Soulja Boy is another generation's Eminem, another's AC/DC or another's Elvis.

This is a question in search of a simple answer: Do you let the young people in your lives "Crank Dat (Soulja Boy)"?

The song hit teen mainstream in August and now airs about every 15 minutes in clean and not-so-clean versions. The performer, Soulja Boy Tell Em, aka DeAndre Way, 17, first recorded the song on his PC, made up a dance to it and posted both online. They went viral and he ended up with a record deal and on the radio in your kid's bedroom.

The tune is repetitive, punctuated with a tin-drum plink, and the dance is just complicated enough that front-room performers have to listen and watch it multiple times to get all the moves.

And the lyrics? The word "ho" (sometimes spelled "hoe" on the Internet) appears at least 31 times in the unclean version. "Ho," of course, is another word for prostitute, which often is another word for woman, which, given the target audience of this song, is another word for girl. And in "Crank Dat," the word is often accompanied by descriptions of various things done to that "ho."

If you are a woman or a girl, or if you are related to a woman or a girl, the insipid words should make your lip curl and your temper flare. More to the point, the song's target audience seems to be 12- to 17-year-old kids; at least that's who is on YouTube dancing the Soulja Boy in their front rooms. The dance seems to have made the lyrics a second thought, if even a thought, for all those parents who record the under-10 set and proudly post the performances on the Web.

The disciplinarian in me has one thought: Pull the plug and climb the pulpit to rail against degrading lyrics. But unless I want to be in my kids' lives every second, which is impractical and unhealthy, any bans I declare are unenforceable and perhaps encouragement to "Crank Dat" right along with everyone else.

Plus, a scroll through my own playlists makes me wonder if I'd be protesting too much: Lucinda Williams, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Beck, Johnny Cash, the Rolling Stones and, for a while there, Shakira.

Now, if I kept my music to myself, all would be fine; after all, I am an adult. But, we are a family of road-trippers, a crew that turns up the music whether we are traveling to the swimming pool or grandmother's house two states away. I'm the DJ because my hands are on the wheel, and sometimes the lyrics in my music are not always kid fare. Let's just say I'm quick on the skip button. Usually.

"Crank Dat" and some of my music have one thing in common: They can encourage (ignite?) healthy conversations between adult and kid. Those conversations can then add up to media literacy.

When figuring out how to talk to my kids about lyrics — and trying to decide for myself whether any harm can come from them — I came across an interesting Web site called MyPopStudio.com, which was created by researchers and media professionals at the Media Education Lab at Temple University.

The creators encourage young girls to critically evaluate media messages. In particular, "My Pop Studio is a creative play experience that strengthens critical thinking skills about television, music, magazines and online media directed at girls," they say.

When it comes to music, their key question is: What is the value message of that song? And, I would add, am I supporting those values by listening to it?

Sorry, kids, "Crank Dat (Soulja Boy)" doesn't have much of a value message, except to the people making money off it.

Nowadays in my car, we skip around in one another's music until I, still in the control of the tuner, turn their requested radio station off, usually after about three minutes because the lyrics or banter is so wildly wrong for kids.

But I try not to rail. I really try. Instead, I suggest that we talk about the words, the meaning and the message. Something from those conversations will stick, especially if we keep having them. And at the very least we can sometimes agree on one thing: silence.