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It was the summer of 1998 and my mother, who was 83, was visiting. My son Matt, 20, was also home from college. Counting my wife Madeline and I, we had three generations living under one roof and that lead to some very interesting intergenerational, family discussions.

One day Matt came home from work and put the stereo on to blast out some of his favorite songs. I'm used to it, but the sudden wall of sound caused my mother to jump out of her chair, spin around three times, grab her heart and shout.

Mom: What's that noise? Is it an earthquake? Is the world ending?

Matt: (lowering the stereo) That's just the "Dead Presidents."

Mom: The "deaf" presidents.

Matt: No, it's the "Dead Presidents."

Mom: Which ones?

Me: Probably Harding, Johnson and Millard Fillmore.

Matt: Who are they?

Mom: I think they're presidents, Matt. Weren't you saying something about presidents?

Matt: Yes, the Dead Presidents. They're a musical group.

Mom: Well, if that's music, they need more practice.

Matt: That's their sound, grandma.

Mom: It sounds like noise to me. In my day, we had real songs like In the Mood and Moonlight Serenade. And good musicians like Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey and Guy Lombardo. They made beautiful music. Why don't they make songs like that anymore?

Matt: I think it's because they died.

Mom: I mean the music. No one writes pretty songs anymore.

Me: It's probably because they wrote all the good songs back then and there's none left to do.

Mom: You mean all the good songs have been written?

Me: Right, and so the musicians had to move on and create new music like rock and roll.

Mom: Noise.

Me: Hey, I may agree with you about Matt's music, but now you're talking about my music. It was great stuff.

Mom: What great stuff? Elvis swiveling his hips (she does an imitation of Elvis swinging his hips) and singing, "I ain't nothing but a hot dog."

Me: That's Hound Dog.

Matt: And, besides, he's dead, too.

Me: We had some of the greatest musical groups of all times when I was growing up. We had the Beach Boys and the Beatles.

Mom: What did they sing that was so good?

Me: The Beach Boys sang Little Deuce Coup and Good Vibrations. The Beatles did I Wanna Hold Your Hand and Sgt. Pepper.

Mom: Noise.

Matt: Elevator music.

Me: Top 40 Golden Oldies.

Matt: TV commercial jingles.

Me: Classic Oldies.

Mom: More noise.

Me: Look, I'm going to get my 45s and show you both.

Mom: What's he doing?

Matt: He's getting a 45. It's a gun. Rock music has driven him crazy, grandma.

Me: No, mom. They're records. Music used to come on 45 rpm records.

Mom: Ours came out of a Victrola.

Matt: What's a Victrola?

Me: It's a record player. You've seen the picture with the spotted dog listening to the machine with the cone on top. That's a Victrola.

Matt: So how did it play music?

Me: They used these big records called 78s that played the music.

Matt: Oh, like CDs.

Mom: They play music on Certificates of Deposits? When we had CDs they just paid seven percent interest. We didn't get any music with our CDs.

Me: No, mom. A CD stands for Compact Disc. It's like a small record album that uses a laser to play the music.

Mom: Well, we didn't have no lasers in my day. They played music the old-fashioned way, with instruments. Like Glen Miller and his band. I used to love their song Pennsylvania 6-5000.

Matt: Isn't that where the presidents live?

Mom: Which ones?

Matt: All of them.

Me: That's 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Mom: No, I'm pretty sure it was "Pennsylvania 6-5000."

Matt: Wasn't there a movie by that name?

Me: That was "Transylvania 6-5000."

Mom: Isn't that where the White House is?

Matt: No, it's in Washington D.C.

Mom: I could have sworn it was "Pennsylvania 6-5000."

Me: That was a song.

Mom: I know it was a song.

Matt: How'd it go?

Mom: It went: "Pennsylvania 6-5000."

Matt: And....?

Me: That was it, Matt, All they sang was a phone number. And she thinks Elvis lyrics were bad.

Mom: It was enough.

Matt: Who's phone number was it anyway?

Mom: Probably the President's number. He lives on Pennsylvania Avenue.

Matt and Me: Which president?

Mom: One of the dead ones.

- Myron Kukla

Myron Kukla is a Midwest freelance writer. He is the author of several books of humor, including Guide to Surviving Life, and is a regular contributor to Bestversionmedia and the Erma Bombeck blog. Email him at myronkuklabooks@gmail.com or follow his blog, The Writings and Musings of Myron J. Kukla.