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"Back Door Serenade" is a gentle, resonant short story that explores intergenerational bonds, the quiet magic of childhood talent, and the unspoken emotional currents that run between a grandparent and a child. Rooted in realism but tinged with emotional lyricism, the story hinges on a deceptively simple premise: a five-year-old boy performs an old rock song at a party store opening. But beneath that simplicity lies a nuanced meditation on legacy, connection, and the small, private rituals that shape a young identity.

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Back Door Serenade

By Harry Arabian

It was just before the weekend, late Friday evening, when Geoff tossed on his coat, gave me a grin, and called over his shoulder on his way out of the office:
“See you Sunday at Sandy’s grand opening in Woburn—bring your grandson! That voice of his is going to steal the show!”

I chuckled, still at my desk. Geoff had been thoroughly impressed with Dave’s performances at the last company picnic—his enthusiastic renditions of the Ghostbusters theme and the Paw Patrol intro had turned heads and hearts. The crowd of adults and kids alike couldn’t get enough of the five-year-old with the fearless voice and big grin.

But I had noticed something long before the picnic. On our walks along the creek, just the two of us, Dave would start singing without prompt. Sometimes he’d chant softly, “Follow the river… we follow the river,” turning our steps into an adventure soundtrack. The TV-inspired theme songs were fun, sure, gifts from his movie-loving parents—but that natural spark, that melody from within, was something different.

So when Sunday came, my wife and I loaded Dave into the car and headed to Woburn. The new store was buzzing, balloons snapping in the wind, two dozen children hyped up on sugar and anticipation, all shouting and hopping around the velvet rope as 2 p.m. neared. Geoff and his wife Sandy stood at the ribbon, smiling proudly, Sandy holding an enormous ceremonial scissors that gleamed under the spring sun.

Just before the ribbon cutting, Sandy raised a hand.
“We have a special performance,” she announced. “By our little friend, Dave!”
She pointed to my grandson.

Dave, without missing a beat, marched up to the tiny stage, grabbed the mic, and in his clear, high voice said,
“I have a special song for you—a song I listen with my Grandpa.”

Then he began.

“Got to sit down, take a rest on the porch
Imagination sets in, pretty soon I'm singin'
Doot, doot, doo, lookin' out my back door…”

The children stopped and stared, then giggled and squealed at the lyrics.

“There’s a giant doin' cartwheels, a statue wearin' high heels,
Look at all the happy creatures dancin' on the lawn…”

They erupted in laughter. It wasn’t the latest cartoon jingle, no—but it was magic. There was something about the unexpected rhythm of Creedence Clearwater Revival, sung by a five-year-old, that lit up the entire event.

Just then, Vic and his wife walked up, mid-verse.

“Tambourines and elephants are playin' in the band,
Won’t you take a ride on the flyin’ spoon?”

Vic grinned wide, watching his son hold court over a bunch of enraptured kids. “Where did he learn that song?” he asked.

I leaned over, chuckling. “It’s our exercise anthem,” I said. “We recite it while we jump on the trampoline in the sunroom.”

Vic laughed and shook his head. “That’s so Grandpa.”

Maybe it was. But in that moment—watching Dave bask in joy and applause—I felt something deeper stirring. It wasn’t just a cute performance or a family quirk. It was the joy of seeing a child step into his voice. A little light switched on, not just for him, but for me too.

Maybe it really was the start of something bigger—a future full of songs, of shared stories, of doors opening to places neither of us could yet imagine.