I AM training my three year-old-son, Julian, to become a karaoke king.

On some days, after I pick him up from preschool in the afternoon, we head to a Partyworld branch with either my parents or friends, and proceed to
belt out songs between mouthfuls of noodles, chicken wings and sotong balls in a disco-lit room for hours at a stretch.

While we sing, Julian will have a field day fiddling around with the hand clappers and maracas. Occasionally, he provides background dancing when
one of us sings a retro disco song. Sometimes, he hogs the microphone. More often than not, he is busy crawling around on the red PVC booth seats.

Now, before you write in to complain that it’s borderline child abuse that I should be cooping up my son in a dimly lit, potentially sleazy  environment filled with flirty China girls, MTV videos with questionable morals and germ-filled central air-conditioning, know that Julian has already honed his showmanship and is a great hit with the adults at dinner parties.

The one – and only – song in his repertoire is Stop And Stare by American rock band One Republic. Since he has been listening to it on constant repeat
for, oh, say the last two years, he has memorised the lyrics, and has even come up with some innovative new ones of his own.

“I’ve got my heart set on anywhere but here”, for instance, has morphed into “You’ll get a hot sir, only if you wear the queue”. And he sings the song
ad nauseum at karaoke, begging us to insert it into the playlist between his grandparents’ Hokkien duets and my Mandarin ballads.

It doesn’t stop there. In true rock-star fashion, he performs it (at the top of his voice) when the mood takes him at playdates and gatherings,  accompanied by air guitar and drumming motions. On repeat. Some days, I feel like I’m going deaf, mad or both, when he yowls the song incessantly
in my ear.

And after every rendition, I am required to applaud. Or else the little guy would pout and demand: “Clap! Clap for me!” It is like having a personal getai with a monotonous programme. I’m glad that my zeal for karaoke has rubbed off on him, though. After all, when I was pregnant, I would go to the KTV parlour several times a week and, while I sang, Julian would punch and kick rhythmically in my stomach.

Back then, a friend of mine told me about the late Cuban singer Ibrahim Ferrer of the famed Buena Vista Social Club, whose musical talents seemed
destined when his mother went into labour in a dance hall. I was half-expecting my waters to break at a karaoke session.

So, will Julian’s star rise from the humble karaoke room? Or am I just one of those dreamy parents who fancy their child a genius, when he is merely indulging in popular entertainment?

All I know is that I’m hoping my son’s penchant for performing won’t fizzle out as the comfortable boldness of childhood gives way to the self-consciousness of adolescence. Thankfully, stage fright is not in a three-year-old’s vocabulary.

And, really, it’s nice having a pint-sized entertainer around.

myp@sph.com.sg