The redundant singing of an alarm clock awakens most people with an ear piercing, rhythmic bleep creeping up on you that destroys the most pleasant dreams and even the most serene minds. In my house it's different. Instead of that steady blare agitating my entire body, I have my very own jukebox. In a way it's broken, the buttons don't work and you can't choose to listen to song number 678 and expect the Jackson Five to serenade you with "A, B, C". The tune is the same every time with different lyrics, a tired melody I learned in Bible school that is easy to carry. Sometimes I find myself humming it while walking to class even after the jukebox has long since stopped. Of course, I am speaking of no clock radio or even of an out-of-style, brightly painted, metal box that switches records before my eyes. I am telling you about my mother.

Her musical talent was left in high school along with her creativity, but certainly not her sense of humor.., Each morning I thank God that I can be roused by a mere touch of the finger. If not, I too would have to, put up with her excited craziness each morning. My eight-year-old brother on the other hand, is not so lucky. He sleeps like an intoxicated teen that passed out last night and is afraid to wake up with a hangover. As an alternate way of lying down he chooses to sprawl his entire corpse across the pillows with his legs askew in a pretzel position. He cannot be moved. Not even by the loudest, most neurotic alarm clock sold by Radio Shack. So he is anointed every morning with the sound of my mother's young-at-heart voice.

In an almost funny sort of way she dances Re an amateur ballerina through the hallway singing her famous Bible song: "Rise and Shine and give God the glory, glory. Children of their beds." This isn't the original text intended by the author, but it has over time earned new endings with each new morning. Despite her crooning early each morning, and the fine display of stunning dance skills, my brother has now merely rolled off the pillows and hidden himself unconsciously beneath the blankets. My mother is not easily discouraged and continues her antics even louder, adding in an occasional turn to her skip. Attempting to make up an entire verse to the song, she sings the jingle over, and over again. "Rise and Shine and Give God..."

Now completely awake, my brother throws his worn bear at her and buries his head in the pillow. He dare not face her because he knows that she will only mock his tousled hair and smother him with pillows. The Jukebox persists her weary song as my brother tires as best as he can to return to a pleasant slumber. But now he has shown that indeed he is not dead, and my mother begins to tickle him with all her might. His legs are flying wildly about the bed dancing uncontrollably to the jukebox. His anus fly about her face as if he's trying to break the glass on the jukebox to silence it. But now his sleepiness has turned into laughter and he rolls over to smile at her bright face. She smiles back and kisses his forehead telling him to get his lazy butt out of bed. She exits the room chuckling to herself in great satisfaction and begins to primp herself in the mirror while watching pajamas fly. While he gets dressed my mother hums quietly to her reflection the never changing melody of her broken record collection. She has succeeded in her morning objective, even though they are already late.