How Do You Screen Your Kids’ Friends? Apply the “Bob Seger Test.”

WHEN MY SON and daughter got old enough to start asking if they could hang out with this or that kid, I had no idea what the right answer to that might be. How was I supposed to know if this second-grader or that fifth-grader were good influences or future serial killers?

I knew that interviewing the parents of these potential friends wasn’t the way to go—I’d already been on the other end of those interrogations, probably due to my long hair, necklace, and wallet chain, and knew it was uncomfortable for all involved, and usually didn’t end with a playdate.

So, I came up with a workaround. Instead of vetting the parents, I would vet the kids, but indirectly, with a simple question that would tell me all I needed to know. Whenever my son or daughter came home bouncing with energy to play with a new-to-me kid, I’d ask them, “Do they know who Bob Seger is?”

My assumption here was that you can’t really listen to Bob Seger and not have depth, not be a good person. Listen to Bob’s “Fire Lake” and know that it’s you who’s going to ride that come three-wheeler. Try not to nod your head with “Still the Same,” because we all have someone like that in our lives, don’t we? In our lives or sitting right behind us in homeroom. Spin “Turn the Page” and experience the loneliness and anonymity of a different venue every night, whether it’s a tour schedule or parents dragging you along. Or let “Against the Wind” tell you about what it’s like to struggle—in relationships or the line for Jell-O. Bob Seger’s whole catalogue is an education, a guiding light, a set of arms to fall into.

So, when my kids would rush out of school about to burst with needing to play with this or that kid, I’d ask them what I’d ask them, and, each time, they’d look up to me and their shoulders would sag a bit and they’d look around for Mom, because maybe she could override me.

“I don’t think they know him, Dad, no,” they’d say, and I’d shrug, and they’d get it. They wouldn’t like it, but they understood. I was just trying to keep them safe—situate them among quality people.

But, to my kids’ credit, and probably because “Brave Strangers” had always been in the background at home, they never stopped trying.

And? Next time?

“Do they know Bob Seger?” I’d ask, down at their level.

“They do now,” they’d tell me, trying to hide their grin. To kids who had never even heard of this songwriter and singer out of Detroit, my son and daughter played “Sunburst” or “Till it Shines” huddled behind a locker, two sets of ears held to one device. And some of those kids are still friends, twenty years later.

No, I no longer ask if the people my kids bring home know who Bob Seger is—it was an arbitrary hoop to get to a playdate—but I know my kids have him in their hearts. As far as I’m concerned, that means they’re out there right now, making good decisions.